So Beautiful
by fallenpetal
Summary: COMPLETEThings aren't going Hermione's way, and her perfect dream has been shattered. There is only one person who can put her life back together. HermioneDraco
1. Told her so

"New York?!"

"Are you crazy?"

"You can't leave!"

"Please," she whispered, turning away to hide her tearstained face, "don't make it worse."

"Hermione," Harry said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. "Why can't you just get a job in London?"

"I've told you," Hermione said miserably, smearing her tears away with the back of her hand. "St. Mungo's just doesn't have the same status as the hospital in New York. It's the most prestigious hospital in our world, and there's really no place in England for the type of medical magic that I studied at the university."

Ron angrily slammed the palm of his hand down on the coffee table, causing Hermione and Harry to jump. "Why can't you just settle with second-best?" he demanded, not looking at her. "Why do you always have to have to try so hard? Wouldn't it be easier just to live with your second choice?"

"Ron, don't, please," she whispered, frightened by his outburst. "I'll come back on weekends to visit, I promise, we won't lose touch—"

Ron, ignoring her, grabbed a jacket from the closet and stormed out the door of the apartment. Hermione buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Shh, Hermione, it's okay," Harry soothed, enveloping her somewhat awkwardly in his arms. "He's just taking it hard. He needs time to understand, that's all."

"I've known Ron for as long as you have," Hermione snapped, pushing him away. "Don't try to apologize for what he does." She stopped abruptly, and took a deep, quavering breath. "I'm sorry. I just didn't think it would be this hard."

"Well, as long as you're sure it's what you want," Harry said doubtfully. "I bet everything will work out. I'll talk to him."

Hermione suddenly felt frozen. He had been right. Neither of them understood. He had told her so, and she had ignored him. It all of a sudden seemed as if she were completely detached from the situation.

"Look, Harry," she said briskly, standing up, "I really need to be getting home. It's late."

"It's only seven," he said, looking at the clock, and then back at her with a confused expression.

"I'm really tired," she told him shortly, pulling on her jacket. "I'll see you later." She left his and Ron's flat without waiting for a reply.

Hermione strode through the streets, winding her way through the crowds, her heels clicking briskly in a businesslike manner. She walked with purpose, heading not for her own flat, but for another that she knew very, very well. She stepped into the lift and waited to reach floor seven, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. Her arrival was announced with a _ding!, and she hurried down the hallway. She knocked on the door of 7-C, and waited to be admitted._

The door swung open with a squeak.

"You need to get that fixed," she admonished, giving him a small smile.

"I know," he said with a rueful grin, ushering her inside. "I've been needing to get it fixed for weeks." He helped her out of her jacket and hung it up in the closet. Hermione made her way to the living room and sank onto the white leather sofa, holding her head in her hands. She could hear him making tea in the kitchen. She began to idly flip through the photo album on the coffee table, which was full of all their pictures. She, sitting in front of a fountain in Venice, looking off into the distance, unaware of the camera's presence; he, standing in front of the fountain, head thrown back at such an angle that it looked as if the water was spurting out of his open mouth; both of them in a gondola boat, arms around each other, smiling happily at the photographer.

Hermione's emotionless mask cracked and silent tears began to fall down her cheeks; tears of regret, tears of nostalgia, tears of worries. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing silently, allowing the tears to cleanse her. She heard him set a tray down on the coffee table, and then she felt his arms around her, rocking her. He was silent. He, alone of all people, understood that she needed silence when she was upset. Her tears subsided gradually, and his arms relaxed their comforting grip.

"You told them?" His voice was quiet.

"I tried to tell them," she corrected, hiccupping. He took her hand in his and stroked the backs of her knuckles with his thumb, a familiar gesture that comforted her. Hermione breathed in deeply, trying to calm herself. "Draco, if you were me," she said suddenly, looking directly into his eyes, "what would you do?"

He looked down at their clasped hands, white-blonde hair falling in his face. She waited patiently for his answer.

"I would do what I thought was best," he said eventually. She waited for more, knowing that he wasn't finished. "What was best for me, and what was best for everyone else."

"But I don't know what's the best thing to do," she whispered. "I just don't know."

He cracked a grin. "There has to be a first time for everything, doesn't there?" She allowed herself to smile briefly.

"I want to go to New York for a better job," she said, working out her reasoning out loud. "But I want to stay in London for my family, and my friends . . . and you."

"I'm not a friend?" Draco asked, his expression teasing and serious at the same time, a contradiction that he alone was able to express.

"You're more," Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand. "You know that. Ever since university—you've been everything to me."

"Well, I'm glad," he told her, passing her a cup of tea. "Because if I felt like that and you didn't—well, then we'd have a problem." There was a companionable silence as they sipped at their tea.

"I applied for the job yesterday," Hermione said eventually. "If I get in . . ."

Draco finished the sentence for her: ". . . there's no way you're not going."

She nodded, her expression blank. "Well, I doubt that they'll hire me anyway, so I really have nothing to worry about, right?"

"Don't slight yourself, Mya," he admonished gently, steely eyes meeting hers directly. "I thought you were getting better about not doing that."

"I thought so, too." She shrugged. "I must be regressing."

"Or temporarily relapsing," he suggested. They shared a grin.

"When are we going to do this again?" Hermione asked, tapping the photo album, changing the subject abruptly.

"Whenever you like."

"How about if I get the job—"

"When you get the job—"

"If I get the job, we can go somewhere as a celebration."

"Sounds good to me," Draco grinned.

Hermione sighed and leaned back against the couch. "At least now I'll have something to look forward to."

Draco flopped an arm around her shoulders. "Come on, lighten up," he commanded teasingly. "Everything's going to turn out fine."

Hermione shrugged.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you have dinner?"

"Not yet," Hermione told him. "I came here straight from Harry and Ron's."

"Let's go somewhere," Draco suggested.

"Ooh, can we go to Pepper Terrace?" Hermione pleaded. "Chinese sounds really good right now."

"Anywhere you like," he replied with a grin.

"I need to change first," she said, looking down at her pants and blouse outfit. "I can't go anywhere nice looking like this."

"You look beautiful," Draco said, his eyes intently on hers, waiting for a reply.

"You're just saying that." Hermione swatted at him, blushing. "Apparating would be faster. Let's go." She vanished with a CRACK!, and Draco, sighing, mimicked her.

~*~

An hour later they were finishing their meal. The waiter brought over a tiny silver tray with two fortune cookies lying on it, gave a little nod, and left.

Draco grabbed one of the cookies and cracked it open.

"You act like such a Muggle sometimes," Hermione smiled, watching him affectionately. "It's just a cookie."

"My dear, it is much more than just a cookie," he said solemnly, leaning closer as if to whisper a secret. "It is a prophecy."

"Pray, what does it foretell?" Hermione inquired, playing along.

He said mysteriously, "He who stands on toilet is high on pot."

Hermione stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, it worked," she admitted through giggles. "The whole dinner thing, joke fortune cookies . . . I'm in a better mood. Now are you satisfied?"

"Yes," Draco grinned. "I knew it would work."

"What does it really say?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Your love life will be happy and harmonious," he read, looking up at her.

"That's a nice fortune," Hermione said, looking mischievous. "Too bad they don't really come true."

Draco put on a hurt expression. "You're paying for that," he warned, shaking his head sorrowfully.

Hermione picked up her own cookie, neatly split it, and unfolded the little piece of paper: "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

"I told you," Draco interjected, folding his arms. "They are true. Your man-hating policy is even disliked by the makers of fortune cookies."

"I don't hate all men," she insisted, biting into the cookie with a crunch. "Just most of them."

"Well then, I'm lucky I'm in the minority, aren't I?" His eyes locked onto hers, chillingly steely. She couldn't understand how his eyes could be so cold and intimidating, and his personality so effervescent.

"You're a walking contradiction," she announced, stabbing at a piece of broccoli with a chopstick. "I don't understand you."

He shrugged, deciding not to press for details. "I don't understand myself either. Are you finished?"

She nodded.

"Let's go."

"Go where?" Hermione asked as he helped her into her jacket.

"My flat."

"But it's late," she protested as he steered her out into the chilly autumn night. "I'm tired."

"I will lend pajamas," was the only response that she got. She gave in and walked on her own, but without shrugging off his arm. The fabric of her dress was thin, and the jacket didn't help as much as his body heat did. His building was only a few blocks away, but by the time they arrived, she was shivering.

"You should have worn something more practical," Draco admonished as he unlocked the door.

"I'm never practical when I want to look nice," Hermione managed to get out through chattering teeth.

"You always look nice." His gaze was so direct that she had to look away.

"How about those pajamas?" she asked, hugging herself despite the fact that the radiator was banging away.

He crooked a finger and started down the hallway. "Follow me." She made her way behind him into his bedroom. He directed her towards the chest of drawers, and then vanished into the bathroom. Hermione picked through his things, chose a large t-shirt and baggy pants, and changed before he reemerged, clad in a pair of boxers and a long-sleeved shirt.

"They're a little big," he joked, watching as she rolled up the waistband of the pants.

Hermione bristled. "Are you making fun of me because I'm short?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, grinning, and flopped down on the king-sized bed, closing his eyes with a sigh of contentment. "Are you coming?" he asked without opening his eyelids.

Hermione folded down the sheets on her side of the bed, and crawled underneath them, basking in the warmth of the flannel comforter. "Mm," she said happily, stretching her arms above her head. "I feel alive again."

Draco rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her. "Can I ask you something, Mya?" he said seriously.

"Sure," Hermione said sleepily.

"What you said earlier, about hating most men—why?"

She understood what he meant immediately, even with the sentence fragment. "I just don't want to be involved with anyone romantically right now." She shrugged. "I don't want to mess up my career. Maybe when I'm firmly settled in a job—"

"You're twenty-three," Draco said, as though she didn't know this. "You could at least have a fling or something, if you don't want a long-term commitment."

Hermione winced. "That's so wrong."

He laughed. "I know," he said, affectionately running a finger down her cheek. "But I think you should give someone a chance."

Hermione gave him a death look. "That's what you said about Terry. Look what happened there!"

"Well, okay," he admitted. "Terry would be one example where my superior judgment failed me. Still, just because Terry was horrible doesn't mean that all men are."

"I know," Hermione said, her mahogany eyes meeting his gray ones. "I just want to wait. There's nothing wrong with that."

"No," Draco said, defeated, "I suppose not."

"Look, I just want to go to sleep, all right?" Hermione told him gently. "Good night." She reached out and switched off the lamp.

A few minutes later, Draco broke the silence: "You're not asleep, are you?"

"No," she admitted, rolling over to face him. "I'm too worried to fall asleep. Draco, what if—"

"Shh," he said, gently placing a finger on her lips, silencing her. "Don't worry. No matter what happens, I'll be here, okay?"

Hermione nodded, and heaved a sigh. "I'm still worried."

By the moonlight shining on his face, she could see his features contort into an impish smile. "Mya?"

"Don't tickle me!" she shrieked, grabbing her pillow and holding it protectively over her stomach. Draco pounced, ignoring the whacks he was getting with the pillow and her screams of laughter.

"I'm serious," she wheezed, clomping him in the face with the pillow. "I'm going to pee my pants if I laugh any more."

"My pants, you mean," he corrected, stopping his assault. "And you'd better not, cause you'll be the one cleaning them."

"It's your fault," Hermione pouted, hugging the pillow. "Okay, I honestly need to go to sleep now. If I get any more stressed out I might explode."

"What, pillow fights don't help you get out any stress?"

Hermione smiled, her face illuminated by the light of the moon. "Goodnight, Draco." She rolled over, and in a few minutes her breathing became deep and even.

Draco lay staring at the ceiling, listening to her breathe and smiling. He loved her more than she knew. He only hoped that he was doing the right thing by letting her go.

~*~

Yikes, long first chapter. If it doesn't seem to have a point yet, bear with me. I'm getting there, I promise. I like to make long introductory chapters so the readers can get the feel of the characters. And I will explain how they became friends in the first place very soon, possibly in the next chapter. Review please! Criticism accepted—I want to know what you honestly think, even if it sucked.


	2. The morning after

Hermione woke early the next morning, wincing as a beam of sunlight cut into her eyes. She glanced at Draco, wondering why he hadn't awoken also, and was greeted by the sight of white-blonde strands of hair sticking out at odd angles from underneath his pillow. She smiled affectionately. He looked so much better now that he didn't slick his hair down, like he did in their Hogwarts days. She froze, not wanting to disturb him, as he gave a little sigh and rolled over. His features were illuminated by the light, but he didn't wake. Hermione wondered briefly if she should get up, decided against leaving the warmth of the bed, and fell instead into a sort of doze, memories flashing through her mind.

_It was her first day at Magus Docere, the famous wizarding university in __London__. Hermione was hurrying to a Charms class, laden down with books and not paying attention to her surroundings. She rounded a corner and ran straight into someone. Books went flying everywhere, parchment scattered, and her inkpot smashed on the floor, coating her belongings in a thick black layer of ink._

_"Shit," she muttered, reaching for her wand to repair the damage, but a hand found hers, stopping her._

_"Allow me," a pleasant-sounding voice said. "Reparo!"_

_"Thank you," was what Hermione meant to say. What actually came out was, "Ehrm," as she looked up at the object of her collision and discovered that it was Draco Malfoy._

_"Granger?" he asked, sounding just as startled as she was._

_"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, bending down to collect her books. To her surprise, he didn't answer with the sharp retort she expected. Instead, he knelt beside her and began gathering up pieces of parchment. "What on earth are you doing?" she asked in astonishment, staring openmouthed at him. A pureblooded Malfoy, kneeling on the floor to help Muggle-born Hermione Granger? It was unheard of._

_He looked at her in confusion. "I'm picking up your things. It's the least I can do after knocking you over."_

_"I . . . erm . . . well . . . ." Hermione stuttered, unsure of how to respond. "What happened to you?"_

_"Excuse me?" He didn't seem insulted at all, just faintly amused._

_"Well, to be frank," Hermione said apologetically, "I was expecting a "How dare you run into me, Mudblood," or perhaps, "Get your filthy self out of my way, ha, I trample your books," or something to that effect."_

_He stared at her. Hermione wondered if she looked even worse than she had that morning, and reached up to self-consciously smooth her hair. She jumped when he burst out laughing._

_"Are you all right?" she asked, bewildered, as tears of mirth streamed from his eyes._

_"Ha, I trample your books?" he repeated, and broke into fresh laughter._

_"Look, I have to get to Charms class," Hermione said, exasperated. "If all you're going to do is laugh at me, then—"_

_"I'm sorry," he said quickly, attempting to hide his huge grin. "I really meant for this to happen differently."_

_"I don't understand what you're talking about," Hermione said, sighing. "I'm leaving." She grabbed her books and began walking down the hallway. To her surprise, he followed._

_"Again, what do you want?" Hermione was becoming frustrated. "Why are you following me?"_

_"I'm going to Charms, too."_

_Hermione groaned, and quickened her pace. He stayed right on her heels the whole way, ignoring her pointed sighs, and to her dismay, upon entering the classroom, he sat right next to her._

_"All right," Hermione exclaimed finally, as he leaned over to read the cover of one of her books. She whipped out her wand. "Go away or I will curse you."_

_He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Allow me an explanation first. If it doesn't suit you, I forfeit all my rights."_

_"Fine," Hermione snapped, banging her wand down on the desk, "but make it short."_

_He shifted closer, looking around as if to make sure no one was listening. "I am not the Draco Malfoy that you knew a few months ago."_

_Hermione raised her eyebrows, but made no comment._

_"You were at the final battle, weren't you?"_

_Hermione nodded, confused where this was leading._

_"I was there, too. No, wait," he said quickly, holding up his hands as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, "don't accuse me of being a Death Eater. For the past year and a half, I've been working with Snape."_

Hermione was jolted out of her lazy stupor as Draco muttered something in his sleep, and rolled over, facing towards her. He looked practically angelic while dreaming, far different from his usual cold, mask-like expression. Even while asleep he was a jumble of contradictions, and she didn't understand it. Everything kind that he did or said seemed to clash with his harsh exterior. And she was the only person who realized that he even had a nice side. She hadn't believed that he was telling the truth about being a spy, at first. But as time passed and they became friends, she realized that he was in earnest. And now they knew each other so well it was as if they were two halves of one person.

_"Come in."_

_Hermione looked up from her notes as Draco peeked around the door at her._

_"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked, stepping into her room._

_"Nah," she replied, sticking her quill behind her ear, "I'm almost done studying."_

_Draco closed the door behind himself. "I heard about Terry."_

_Hermione groaned and sank back on the bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. "Who told you?"_

_"Zahra," Draco said, moving the stack of parchment onto the floor and settling himself on the foot of the bed. "Are you okay?"_

_"Do I look okay?" she demanded, wrenching the quill out of her hair and dropping it on the floor. Draco's gaze moved from her puffy eyes to her unruly hair._

_"Well," he said, slowly smiling, tapping his chin with a finger. Hermione threw the pillow at him. "Hey!" he protested, tossing it back. "I didn't say anything mean!"_

_"You thought it," Hermione pouted, crossing her arms._

_"I'm sorry," Draco said quietly._

_"I'm just kidding," Hermione told him, puzzled. "I mean, I know that my hair looks like a Bolivian rainforest. It's not new to me."_

_"I meant about Terry," he explained. "It's my fault. I shoved you at him."_

_"I could have said no," she shrugged. "Look, it's not that big of a deal. Yeah, he was awful, but at least I know it. I'll be fine."_

_"I hate seeing you get hurt," he said, looking directly in her eyes._

_"I'll be fine," she repeated, looking down. His gaze easily made her uncomfortable. "I'm swearing off men."_

_"All men?"___

_She looked up at him, expecting his standard smirk, but his expression was completely serious. There was something in his eyes that made her pause—something that she didn't quite understand._

_"Well," she considered, a smile gracing her lips, "maybe not _all _men."_

_"Am I included?" Either she was imagining things or he was getting quite close to her. She unconsciously shifted her body towards him._

_"In which group?" she breathed. He had definitely moved closer. She was looking right into his steely eyes, exhilarated and a little frightened by the feeling that was running through her. She'd never felt anything quite like it before._

_"The favored one."___

_"Yes," she answered without hesitation. "That's where you want to be, isn't it?"_

_She wasn't at all surprised when he leaned forward and his lips met hers, gently, sweetly. A sudden, terrifying thrill went through her body and she quickly drew away._

_"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, taking her hand and rubbing the knuckles. "Are you okay?"_

_"I'm perfectly fine," she said, her eyes on her lap. "I'm just—I don't know. Scared." She couldn't explain the shiver that had suddenly come over her, the feeling that something was wrong._

_"Of me?"___

_"No, of course not."_

_He gently lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm sorry," he said for the second time. "I wasn't thinking. I just—I don't know why I did that—what it was. A sort of prompting, almost. Like someone shoved me in the back. I shouldn't have."_

_"It's all right," Hermione told him, blushing a little._

_"Why are you scared?" he asked quietly._

_Hermione shrugged. "I don't know," she said honestly. "Something about it didn't quite feel right. Very nice . . . but slightly wrong."_

_"Maybe it was the kissing your best friend part," Draco suggested, a smile playing on his lips._

_"That must have been it," Hermione agreed, grinning. "When it feels as if you've known the person for your whole life—"_

_"I see what you're saying," Draco nodded, his face like a mask. "Nothing more than friends. I promise."_

"Mya? You're awake, aren't you?"

Hermione's eyes flew open and she bolted upright, startled, her heart pounding. Draco had apparently been prodding her in the side, judging by the position he was in, but she hadn't felt a thing.

"Don't do that," she gasped, falling back onto the pillow. "You terrified me."

"But you were awake," he said, puzzled.

"Yeah, so? That does not give you license to poke me," Hermione scolded. "I was daydreaming."

"Anyways," he said, sitting next to her, "I wanted to ask what I should make for breakfast."

"Anything," Hermione said, reaching up to touch his hair. "You have bed head. It's sticking out everywhere."

He reached up to carefully touch the messy white-blonde strands. "Doesn't feel as bad as usual. Anyways, you should talk about bed head."

"Ugh," Hermione groaned, reaching over and smacking him on the leg. "Shut up. It was fine last night."

"Well, mine was fine last night, too," he pointed out, grinning. "Sleekeasy's is not permanent."

"Well, it should be," Hermione said, getting up. "Are you making breakfast or not?"

"There are chocolate chip pancakes waiting in the kitchen," Draco informed her, bowing her down the hallway.

"So why did you bother to ask what I wanted?"

He shrugged. "I was trying to be polite. I can forgo all politeness next time, if you want."

"Nah, that's okay," Hermione said, sitting at the table and reaching for the maple syrup. "I don't mind politeness at all. Please continue it."

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"When do you find out?" Draco asked eventually.

"About the job? A week, two weeks; it all depends on how many applicants they get."

"Don't worry," he said confidently. "You'll get it."

Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, maybe." She speared a piece of pancake with her fork. "Is today Saturday?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Can we please go somewhere fun?" She folded her hands under her chin and gave him expert puppy-dog eyes.

"Certainly, my dear. But," he said quickly, as she opened her mouth to say something else, "we are not going to your apartment first. Either wear something of mine or that dress from last night."

She stared at him open-mouthed. "Why?"

"Because you, my darling," he said as if he were talking to a three-year old, "are entirely too dependent on clothes. We are going to break that habit."

So Hermione had no choice but to put on her burgundy silk dress.

"All set?" he asked, looking up as she emerged from the bedroom.

"I look ridiculous," she complained, hugging herself. "This is not a good dress to go see a movie in."

"You're fine," Draco insisted. "Now come on, we're going to be late." He grabbed Hermione's hand and yanked her out the door, ignoring her protests, and locked it behind them with a determined click.

~*~

Well, yet another seemingly pointless chapter. This was mainly background, because there were definitely some things that needed more explanation. Hopefully this chapter will have taken care of some of those. After this, things will happen faster, I promise. Gimme your opinions. I know exactly where this is going to go—hang with me, por favor.


	3. In the sink

Hermione was sitting at her kitchen table three weeks later, trying to revive over a large cup of tea, wishing that she had gone to bed a little earlier the night before. Usually on Friday nights she didn't get as much sleep as her body required in order to function, because Fridays were Try-a-New-Restaurant Nights with Draco. She stared blearily at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, looking at the headline but not taking in a word of it. She was about to give up and go back to bed when she heard a sharp rapping on the window over the sink. She glanced over sleepily and saw an owl perched on the windowsill, looking quite buffeted.

She stood up and headed for the window, swaying slightly with tiredness. As she unlatched the window a fierce gust of icy wind blew in, along with the owl, who fell into the sink. Hermione picked it up carefully, untied the parchment from its leg, and watched bemusedly as it ruffled its feathers and took off. She looked down at the parchment in her hand and gasped as she recognized the official seal. She slit it open with trembling hands and began, nervously, to read the contents:

_Dear Miss Granger;_

_I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as part of the highly acclaimed staff of the __Curatio__Validus__Hospital__. Please contact_

The parchment fluttered to the floor as Hermione's hand went slack. She stared ahead, blank-faced, in total shock. She stretched out a hand, feeling for her chair, sat down, missed, and landed on the floor with a loud _THUMP! She looked up at the chair, surprised, and burst into fits of hysterical laughter._

"Mya! What the hell are you doing?"

Hermione looked up mid-giggle to see a very startled Draco staring down at her. 

"How did you get in here?" she demanded, hurrying to her feet and trying to summon up what remained of her dignity.

"Floo," he said simply. "Again, what the hell are you doing?"

"Why did you come?" she asked, trying to avoid his question.

"Because you had a little too much to drink last night, remember?" he said, looking concerned. "You're my best friend. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Hermione groaned and sank back into her chair. "I forgot all about that. So that's why I have a headache."

"Why were you on the floor?" He sat down next to her and took her hand. "Do you feel okay?"

"I feel perfectly fine," Hermione said in a dazed sort of voice. She handed him the letter and watched his eyes moving down the page. His eyebrows went up at the first lines, but by the time he finished reading and looked up at her, his face was like a mask, any expression hidden.

"Congratulations," he said, sounding genuinely happy for her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, trying and failing to glean something from his eyes.

"You're leaving in a week."

"I am?!" Hermione snatched the letter back and skimmed it. "I am! That's too soon! I won't have time to get everything ready, or to say goodbye to everyone, or—"

"You'll manage," Draco cut her off, hoping to avoid hysterics. "I'll help."

"Again, thank you," she said gratefully. She sighed. "I don't know how I'm going to tell Harry and Ron."

"Don't," Draco suggested.

"Oh, sure, great idea," she laughed. "I'll just leave and see if they notice or not. Sounds wonderful."

He shrugged. "Notice I didn't say it would be practical."

"Well," Hermione sighed, standing up, "I should probably get started."

"Making to-do lists?"

"Of course."

~*~

Hermione took a deep breath and reached out her hand to knock. She withdrew it quickly, mentally admonishing herself, and slowly reached again. She rapped three times, softly, and briefly contemplated running back down the stairs and going home. She heard footsteps approaching, and it was too late. The door swung open and Harry was grinning down at her.

"Hey, Hermione," he said cheerily. "Come on in."

He walked into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Want anything to eat?"

"No, thanks," Hermione said, shutting the door behind her. She tossed her jacket over the back of a chair, thinking ruefully about Harry's lack of manners. If it had been Draco she was visiting, he would have closed the door for her, hung up her jacket, and gone to make her favorite kind of tea. She sat down in the armchair and watched Harry come back into the room, carrying a sandwich.

"Er . . . is Ron here?" Hermione asked, trying to hide her nervousness.

"No," Harry said around a huge mouthful of turkey and swiss. "He's at a meeting with Captain Winthrop and some of the other regional teams."

"Why aren't you there?"

"Well, they don't exactly need Seekers in team tactics discussions, do they?" Harry was looking at her rather as if she had suddenly revealed a third eye.

"Oh—of course," Hermione said. "Harry, you know I don't know a thing about Quidditch."

He shrugged. "I'm assuming that's not what you came to talk about, then."

"No," she said carefully. "What I wanted to say was—well, I was hoping that both of you would be here. Do you know when Ron'll be back?"

"Nope," Harry replied, taking another bite. "Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Winthrop's unpredictable."

"Well, maybe I should come by another time," Hermione said in relief, standing up.

"Whenever you want," Harry shrugged. "See you around."

"Um . . . sure, Harry," Hermione said quickly, pulling on her jacket. "Bye." She left in a hurry, both relieved that she hadn't had to face their wrath and furious at herself for taking the cowardly way out. She had begun to wonder about Ron's last statement to her: why couldn't she just settle with second-best, anyway? Maybe she should just stay here and find some kind of work at St. Mungo's. That would be a whole lot easier than moving to a new country.

"But I'm not like that, Ron," Hermione said aloud, ignoring the strange looks from passersby on the busy street. To Hermione Granger, taking the easy way out just wasn't acceptable. She was capable of more that Mungo's had to offer, so why not take advantage of that? It would be beneficial to Curatio Validus, obviously; it would be beneficial to whoever took the job at Mungo's, because she wouldn't be stealing the job that was rightfully theirs; and it would be beneficial to herself—she wouldn't be losing brain cells every day, she would be stretching the ones she had. This logical approach to living had always satisfied her before—why wasn't it working now? It was almost as if Ron had struck a nerve, as if taking the easy route was something that Hermione had been wanting her whole life. 

"I'm not like that," she repeated as she waited for the magical lift to arrive at her floor. "I'm not, and I never will be." The doors opened with a _ding!_ and she strode down the hallway to her door, muttering fiercely to herself. She fumbled for her wand, tapped the keyhole and said her password, and stepped into her cozy flat.

Hermione flung her jacket at the couch and was starting down the hallway before she realized that her living room was already occupied. Her first words to Draco were not, "Why are you in here?" or, "Do you want anything?" or even, "Hello."

What came out was, "Am I an overachiever?"

"Good afternoon to you, too," he said sarcastically. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Answer me!" she demanded.

"I'm assuming that the meeting didn't go too well."

"Ron wasn't even there," Hermione said dismissively, "so I didn't tell Harry anything. It would be much harder to have to do it twice. Am I an overachiever?"

"My dear," Draco said, eyes twinkling, "overachiever is precisely the word to sum you up. I'm kidding, honestly," he said quickly as she went for her wand. "Overachiever is a little strong.

"You're more of an extremely hard worker," he said thoughtfully, "who doesn't know exactly how much is too much."

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration and sank onto the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. "That's exactly the same thing."

"Not necessarily."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"I'm not going to argue like a toddler," he said patiently. "Overachiever has a very negative connotation. Being an extremely hard worker isn't always negative."

She sighed. "I suppose I see what you mean. Fine, let me rephrase: do you think I should try less hard? Specifically, should I just take a job at Mungo's and be done with it?"

"That's not my decision to make, Mya," he said, smiling. "You're the only one who can make that choice."

"That's the smile you do when you're trying to hide something," Hermione accused, pointing at his face. The grin disappeared instantly. "Oh, stop," she cried. "The mask is even worse than the creepy smile."

He shrugged. "Hey, that's me. Take it or get out."

"It's my flat," Hermione pouted. They glared each other down for a few moments until Hermione's lips began to wobble. "I give up," she announced, not wanting an actual smile to appear on her face.

"I'm here to help you pack," Draco said, as if she had just walked in.

Hermione sighed. "Thank you."

"You're leaving in five days?"

"Mm-hmm," she said distractedly, standing up and looking around the room. She moved into the kitchen and began rooting through drawers.

"I found it already," Draco said, holding up a packing list.

"Good," she said in relief. "I was wondering where it had gone. Do you want to start with the books?"

He looked at the bookshelves in horror. "What, all two million of them?"

"Yup."

"Better than bras, I suppose," he said, pointing to an item on the list. Hermione blushed and snatched it from him.

"_I_ will handle the bras," she said with dignity, and marched off towards her bedroom.

~*~

Three days before she would leave for New York, Hermione was frantically going through her numerous lists, convinced she had forgotten something.

"Clothes, books, shoes," she muttered, running a slender finger down the rows of neat handwriting. "Talk to parents, done; talk to Parvati and Lavender, done; talk to Harry and Ron—oh, shit. I still have to talk to Harry and Ron!" She looked up at the clock frantically. "Is eleven too late to go over there? Hopefully they don't have morning practice—" She headed for the fireplace, fully intending to Floo herself to their flat, when there was a flash of green fire and Draco stepped into her living room.

"Why do you show up at the most inopportune moments?" she demanded, attempting to go around him. "Let go of me, I have to go talk to Harry and Ron!"

"Not in a bad mood, you don't," he told her firmly, pushing her gently onto the couch. "You'll only get them mad at you."

"They'll be mad anyways," she sulked, folding her arms. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to tell you—" He paused, and pulled something out of his pocket—an airplane ticket. "I'm coming with you."

~*~

Ooh yes, a cliffhanger. Goodness knows I write few enough of those. Well, there was actually some action going on in this chapter, not just descriptions. Woo hoo! Little shorter, I think, but hey, didn't take me as long to get up. If I have a muse, she is very happy with me at the moment, because this thing just FLOWED. I barely even thought about it, I came up with new ideas I didn't mean to have originally, and it's not even ten o'clock! 

Priah: Guilty. *blushes* No one was reviewing, and I just thought . . . Ahem. Anyways . . . any similarities between this story and any other ones are purely coincidental, I promise. Chocolate chip pancakes are my absolute favorite breakfast food ever!

I'm going to try to make Monday be my regular post day. If I don't think I'm going to make the Monday, for whatever reason, I'll put it in my bio, so keep checking that. Please give me some feedback, people! It means a lot to me.


	4. I tried

Hermione stared at the ticket in Draco's hand.

"C-coming with me?" she stammered. "But—I—"

"Not to stay, obviously," he said quickly. "To, you know, help you get settled in and . . . stuff."

Hermione was speechless.

"Are you quiet because you're surprised or because you're repulsed?" he asked.

"Definitely not repulsed," Hermione tried to explain. "I'm just—I—it means so much to me, that you're going to come all the way to New York with me, and help me set up and get settled in and get used to living there, and I'm just finding it hard to express my gratitude and—"

"If you're going to blather like this the whole way there," he cut in calmly, "then I won't come."

"I am shutting up," she whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Thank you," Draco said, looking relieved.

"Can I go talk to Harry and Ron now?" Hermione mumbled between her fingers.

"No," he told her firmly, taking her by the arm. "You are going to go to sleep. It's late, you're stressed out, and if you go over there now, you'll only make it worse."

"I thought I was supposed to be the logical one," Hermione grumbled, allowing him to lead her down the hallway.

"You must be rubbing off on me," he shrugged, a grin slowly taking over his face. "Listen, do you mind if I stay over tonight? My neighbors had salmon for dinner, and the fumes somehow made their way into the air vents . . ."

"No problem," she said, picking her way through the sea of packing boxes that filled her bedroom, "as long as you don't want to borrow any pajamas." She flashed a mischievous grin.

Draco put on a hurt face. "Not even the ones with pink stripes?"

Hermione looked at him in a calculating way. "Pink would be very lovely on you."

"I think I'll be fine," he said quickly. "I'll go pull out the couch. Where did the extra blankets migrate to?"

"Third box from the bottom of the big stack next to the kitchen table," she said immediately.

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her and sauntered out. Hermione sank onto her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. In three days, her life would change completely. She would never tell anyone, but she was feeling incredibly nervous about everything. She was just relieved that Draco would be going with her. Somehow everything fell into place when he was around.

~*~

"I can't do this. I cannot do this, and you're not going to make me."

"C'mon." Draco gave her a gentle shove in the back, nudging her towards the fireplace. "You'll have to eventually."

"But it's raining," Hermione whined, pointing outside to the dreary morning. "I'll be wasting valuable packing time. I can't pack when it's sunny because I get tempted to go outside, and I need all the rainy days I can get."

"You're almost completely packed. You don't need the time. Now go."

Hermione groaned and allowed him to push her towards the fireplace.

"They're not going to understand," she said, procrastinating. Draco held the jar of Floo powder towards her.

"You owe it to them to try," he wheedled. "You don't want to leave with this hanging over you, do you?"

"Well. . . ."

"Go on."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, reaching for a pinch of powder. She tossed it into the fireplace, shouted her destination, and was whirling through green flames. She stumbled out into the messy living room, quickly regaining her balance, and looked around for signs of life.

"Hello?" she called nervously into the silence. "Ron? Harry?"

Ron walked out of the bathroom yawning and shirtless, his hair wet and tousled. "Hey, Hermione," he said, looking pleased to see her. "Haven't seen you for awhile."

"Whenever I come, you aren't here," she said, trying not to sound accusatory.

He shrugged. "Sorry. I've been really busy lately, with Quidditch and everything. Do you need something?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "I need to talk to you and Harry."

"Um," Ron said, looking awkward. "That might be a small problem."

"Why?" she asked quickly. Anything to keep her from talking was good. . . .

"Well, Megara came home with Harry last night," Ron said, carefully looking anywhere but at Hermione, "his girlfriend. And, um, she hasn't left yet. . . ." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Harry's closed bedroom door.

Hermione could feel herself turning scarlet. "Um . . . I suppose I'll come back later, then."

"Anytime today would be fine," Ron mumbled, his ears as red as she assumed her face was. "Er—shall I Floo you when she leaves?"

"Okay," Hermione said hurriedly, turning towards the fireplace. "Thanks, Ron. I'll see you later then." She was spinning through fireplaces before he could reply.

"How'd it go?" Draco asked, looking suspicious, as she fell onto her couch. "That sure didn't take you very long."

Hermione buried her face in her hands with a moan. "I feel so stupid."

"Why?"

"I didn't get to talk to them," Hermione said, muffled by her hands, "because Harry and his girlfriend were otherwise occupied."

Draco cleared his throat, obviously trying not to laugh.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione groaned, emerging to smack him on the arm. "You wouldn't think it was funny if it had been you there."

Draco shrugged. "If it had been me, I probably would have laughed in their faces."

"Why don't you like them?" Hermione demanded.

"They don't like me," he said simply. 

"That's not true," she protested feebly.

Draco gave her a look. "Fine," he agreed, "they hate me. No, don't," he interrupted as Hermione opened her mouth to argue, "they do and you know it."

"Well, it is sort of your fault." Hermione's eyes went wide with shock and she clapped her hand over her mouth, as if belatedly trying to keep her harsh words from escaping. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that at all," she said quickly.

"Okay," he said quietly, looking down. "I know. It's fine."

"No, it's not," she insisted, grabbing his arm. "I shouldn't have said that."

"It's true," he told her slowly, looking her directly in the eyes. "I was a different person at school. They only know that person."

"I really think they'd understand if I told them about you," she said, changing the subject to an old debate of theirs.

"No, I really think they wouldn't," he said, looking slightly alarmed. "You can't tell them about me, they'd probably estrange you or something."

"They're my friends," she protested.

"And they're overly possessive," he replied. "Come on, Mya, let's not argue."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Draco reached over to give her a hug. "I'm sorry too."

The fireplace suddenly flickered with emerald flames, and they jumped apart, startled. Hermione plucked a piece of parchment out of the ashes, and read, "'You can come over now. Ron.'

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I can do this."

"Yes, you can," Draco encouraged, patting her on the shoulder. "Go on. It'll be over soon, and won't that feel good?"

Hermione nodded, made a face, and stepped into the fireplace.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said awkwardly from his reclined position on the couch. "Er—look, I—"

"It's okay, I don't really want to talk about it," she interrupted, willing herself not to blush. "I mean hey, I seem to have a knack for showing up at bad times."

Harry grinned. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Who's beating themself up?" Ron's voice asked from the kitchen.

"Harry is," Hermione called, breaking into a smile. "He's mad because you're eating all the food."

"Am not," Ron protested, coming out of the kitchen empty-handed. "I was putting away the pumpkin juice that _you left out on the table," he told Harry. "Hi, Hermione," he added._

"Hi, Ron," she said wryly.

"You wanted to say something?" he asked.

"Um . . . yes, I did," Hermione said nervously. She began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. "First you have to promise not to yell at me."

"As long as you stop pacing," Harry said, his eyes following her. "You're making me dizzy."

Hermione stopped. "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I got the job in New York and I'm leaving in two days, and please don't be mad, I really think this'll be for the best for everyone, myself included, and I couldn't stand it if you were mad at me and then I didn't see you again, and—"

"Stop babbling," Harry commanded. She froze mid-word. There was silence.

"All right," Harry said eventually, slowly. "So you're leaving. Will you come back and visit a lot?"

Hermione nodded violently. "Of course."

"And it's a good job?"

"One of the best there is."

"And you'll be careful by yourself over there?"

"For heaven's sake, Harry," Hermione said in exasperation. "You're not my mother, although you're doing a remarkable job of sounding like her."

He forced an uncomfortable-looking smile. "Good luck, then."

"Thanks," Hermione said in relief. One down, and the hardest one to go. "Ron?"

"Yeah."

Monosyllabic responses were not typical for Ron, and Hermione began getting worried. "Are you okay with this?" she asked.

"Oh, sure, perfectly fine," he said, sounding strained. "Why would it matter what I think, anyways? It's not like you ever listen to us, so why should I even bother?"

"Ron?" Hermione said in confusion, feeling her eyes began to tear up. "What are you talking about?"

"C'mon, Hermione," he said, making a horribly fake grin. "You know what I'm saying. I mean, you always know what's best, don't you?"

"Ron, please don't do this," Hermione whispered, a few tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Ron. . . ." Harry warned.

"Did you ever stop to think that other people might care about you leaving?" Ron asked, ignoring both of them. "Didn't you think that this might actually affect us? Hurt us?"

"Ron, don't make things worse," Harry said angrily. "Can't you see that you're the one hurting her?"

Ron didn't even bother to look at him. "Do you just want to get rid of us?" he demanded silkily, sounding reminiscently like Snape as he advanced on Hermione. "Is that it? You want to ditch us for someone like . . . Malfoy, don't you?"

Hermione burst into tears. Ron's accusations were in no way true, but she had a hard time dealing when people were angry at her. It had to be a strange coincidence that Draco just happened to be the person he mentioned. Hermione wondered if Ron knew something she didn't want him to know.

"Ron," Harry said, his voice dangerously low, "leave her alone. Now."

Surprisingly, Ron did as Harry demanded, and stormed off into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"I knew it, I knew it," Hermione sobbed as Harry put his arms around her. "I knew he wouldn't understand, I tried to tell Draco, I tried. . . ."

Harry stiffened. "Draco? As in Malfoy?"

"Oh, _shit_." Hermione realized her mistake too late. "Harry, no, listen, it's not what it sounds like—"

"Ron was right?" Harry said, sounding bewildered. "I defended you, and he was _right_?!"

"Harry, listen to me," she pleaded, grabbing his arm as he started to leave. "Draco and I are friends, yes, but I don't want to get rid of you and Ron, not at all! Ron was completely off-base! You two are my friends, and I'm never going to forget you."

"Sure," Harry said, not looking at her and clearly furious. "Whatever you say."

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "I promise. I wouldn't lie to you."

He looked her dead in the face. "Damn you," he said, clearly and coldly, and turned and walked away.

A block of ice slipped down into Hermione's stomach. Never in her life had she been spoken to in that way. Crying so hard she could barely see, she stumbled for the fireplace, and fell out into her apartment, directly into Draco's arms.

"Shit," he whispered, stroking her hair. "It's my fault, isn't it? They didn't understand."

"I tried and tried to tell you," Hermione sobbed. "It was Ron, he twisted what I said and Harry believed him . . . they're never going to talk to me again . . . they hate me."

"I'm so sorry, Mya," Draco murmured. "I—sorry doesn't cut it, does it?"

"I—" was all Hermione could get out before his lips were on hers. For a moment she forgot that it was Draco that she was kissing, forgot that they were supposed to be best friends; she forgot all about Harry and Ron, and the fact that she was sobbing; all she could think about was his lips, and how this was so different from any passion she had thought she felt before.

Abruptly Draco pulled back and swore violently. "I just keep messing things up. I'm sorry, Mya, I completely forgot. Just friends. I won't do it again."

"It's okay," Hermione murmured, looking down. Draco gently wiped her cheeks with the back of his hand.

"Hey," he whispered, gently nudging her chin up. "It'll all be okay. I promise."

~*~

Well, I definitely didn't intend for all that to happen. I was thinking, okay, Ron'll be angry but Harry'll make him understand, and everything will work out all right. This stuff just came from nowhere. Wow. I think I can work with this plot better, too.

By the way, I borrowed the 'surprised or repulsed' line from _Second Helpings_ by Megan McCafferty.

burgundyred: As much as I wish I could say something like, 'Hermione's dependence on clothes symbolizes her need for order in her life, and Draco is trying to get her to break away from that'—I can't, because that would be lying. I just thought it would be funny for her to have to go to a morning movie in a silk evening dress. :-) I HATE HATE HATE it when people stick author's notes in the middle of a story, and use bad grammar and spelling. Seriously, it looks like they've never read a book in their lives, and don't know what a story should look like. *deep breath* anyways…glad you like it!

PinkTribeChick: I couldn't make him just let her go, could I? *laughs evilly* Thanks for reading.

If you want me to send you an email when I update, leave your email address in your review. I might not get out chapter 5 on schedule because this is tech week for Nutcracker, and I'm at the auditorium every night until Sunday, so I'll let you know in my bio if it's going to be up or not next week.

ADDED NOTE ON 12/18

I am not going to keep a regular schedule for updating. I apologize for any problems this may cause, but I am simply too busy to do that. Stupid school. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. -fallenpetal


	5. Arrival

"Remind me again why we can't just Apparate?" Draco groaned as he stood by the security counter, arms spread wide, suspiciously eyeing the man waving a metal detector around his body.

Hermione shushed him with a violent gesture, and smiled innocently at the security guard, who had straightened up and given her a funny look. The guard softened slightly, swiped the detector over Draco's belt buckle, and announced, "You're good, sonny."

Draco jammed his feet into his shoes and rejoined Hermione, who was giggling into her hand. "Oh, shut up."

"Sure, sonny," she replied, giving him a mischievous look. Draco scowled at her. "I've told you why we can't Apparate," she explained, hurriedly straightening her face. "I can't move from England to New York without a record of it somewhere, can I? Imagine how fishy that would look. There needs to be some way for the Muggles to know that I've switched countries."

"It's too much of a hassle," Draco said impatiently, shoving his way through a crowd of simpering women and emerging with a strong smell of perfume clinging to him. Hermione threw a disapproving glance back at the women, who were gazing after Draco.

"They all want you," she told him knowingly. "I'm getting evil stares."

"Really?" Draco looked back, smirked, and wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist, drawing her closer to him. Audible moans and dark muttering followed them around a corner.

"Enjoy making people jealous?" Hermione teased, smacking at his hand, which had crept around her hip for show. "I can see your ego inflating."

Draco gave her a severe glare, tossed his white-blonde hair jokingly, and strode on. Hermione wanted to tell him exactly how much it irked her to see women staring hungrily after him, and how she wanted to jinx each and every one of them. He did cut quite a figure; tall and well-built, eye-catching hair which fell perfectly into his face, handsome features, and those penetrating gray eyes. . . .

Hermione gave herself a mental slap and hurried to catch up with him.

~*~

"How is it any different from a broom?" Hermione asked in disbelief, staring at her best friend, who was determinately avoiding looking at the window.

"It's higher," Draco said carefully, not glancing at her either. "And I'm not in control of it."

"I promise that we'll make it to New York safely," Hermione told him, not quite managing to keep the grin off her face. "I've never been in a doomed airplane yet."

"Shut up," he said for the second time that day. "How much longer is it?"

Hermione shrugged. "Few hours."

"Ugh," Draco groaned. "Talk to me. Tell me something to keep my mind off of the fact that, should the engine suddenly stop working, we'll plummet thirty thousand feet and die in a huge fireball."

"I have my wand in my purse, and if the engine suddenly stops working, I will charm it to work again."

"Oh, good," he said in relief, chancing a look out the window. He shuddered. "Not that anything changes the fact that we are thirty thousand feet in the air."

"Stop being such a baby," Hermione said teasingly. "We'll be perfectly fine. Here, why don't you—um—take a nap or something?"

"Because I'm not tired."

"Oh."

He was unusually terse, and Hermione decided to drop the subject. They spent the rest of the flight in a slightly uncomfortable silence, broken only occasionally with polite remarks. Hermione was dreading the arrival. She was certain that everything between her and Draco was going to disappear, and she was hoping that the horrible flight wasn't an indication of what the future would be like.

Draco was white about the lips as the plane touched down on the runway, but he said nothing, merely stood up and retrieved Hermione's backpack from the overhead compartment.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Hermione followed Draco out into the airport, but once there, he let her lead the way to the baggage claim and then out onto the streets. Hermione flagged down a taxi, Draco shoved the luggage in the trunk, and they clambered into the backseat.

"Um—one moment," Hermione said desperately to the driver, digging through her purse for the scrap of paper with her new address on it. "It's right here—"

Draco turned to the driver and rattled off the address. Hermione stared at him as the cab pulled away from the airport.

"How did you—"

"I'm good at memorizing addresses," Draco said nonchalantly, shrugging, and turned to look out the window at the passing buildings. Hermione was beginning to feel very frustrated with him. Why was he being so stiff and untalkative? Was he mad about the move, too?

By the time they pulled up in front of Hermione's new apartment building, she could practically feel steam emerging from her ears. It was merely not wanting to make a scene in front of the taxi driver or her new neighbors that kept her silent until they had entered her apartment and shut the door.

"What's the matter with you?" she demanded, dropping her suitcase on the floor. "You've barely spoken to me the whole trip. Are you upset about something?"

Draco sighed. "Yes and no."

Hermione tapped her foot petulantly on the floor.

"I'm not angry with you," he elaborated. "I'm just kind of in a bad mood."

"'Kind of'?" Hermione yanked off her coat and threw it on top of her luggage. She couldn't remember ever having been this angry with him, and even though her anger was somewhat unjustified, it felt cathartic. "Please tell me how 'kind of' is enough for me to sit in silence through a whole plane trip!"

"Hey, you could have said something, too," Draco complained, looking a bit taken aback by her sudden anger. "Is it my duty to initiate conversations or something? Because it would be nice if you'd told me beforehand."

"I didn't say anything," Hermione said heatedly, "because I didn't want you to yell at me. It's not fun trying to hold conversations with someone who gives you monosyllabic responses."

"I was occupied with something."

"Really? You certainly didn't look very busy to me."

"Something I was thinking about," he said pointedly. "Privately."

"All I noticed was you being afraid about the plane blowing up," Hermione said spitefully. Draco's lips tightened, and his hand automatically went for his back pocket.

"What, are you going to curse me?" Hermione taunted. "Not good enough with words, are we? We have to resort to—"

"Hermione," he said quietly, and she froze almost as if he had struck her. He never, ever called her by her full name; it was always Mya. Slowly, as she stared, horrified, into his icy eyes, a feeling of guilt washed over her. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off.

"Look, forget it, okay?" he said tightly, and turned to his suitcase. He began pulling out miniaturized pieces of furniture, enlarging them and directing them to new locations around the apartment.

"Um," Hermione said tentatively. "Okay." She unlatched her own suitcase, removed a shrunken stack of clothing, and went through the rooms, pushing open doors until she found what appeared to be the bedroom. "Did you find the dresser yet?"

She turned towards the doorway to see the piece of furniture in question floating into the room. "Thank you." She began enlarging clothing, uncomfortable in the unfriendly silence. It seemed to press on her ears, closing in around her until she felt slightly claustrophobic. She glanced around the room. The walls were a washed out, sick sort of pale yellow, and the carpet was worn in spots. It wouldn't be hard to fix with magic, but this wasn't the kind of welcome she had expected. At least with Draco there—well, if Draco were speaking to her, it would be all right. Hermione sighed and enlarged a shirt. The silence waited.

It felt tangible now—as if she could reach out and pluck a handful from the air. She couldn't remember having felt anything like this ever before. Was this something unique to New York City, or was it merely Draco-initiated? Hermione stood abruptly, marched out into the hallway, opened her mouth to speak—and saw no Draco.

"Draco?" she called, hating the way her voice sounded fragile and uncertain in the stillness. "Where are you?"

No response. She was beginning to worry.

"Draco?" She walked through the tiny apartment, through the bare kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, even checking the closets. "Draco Malfoy, answer me this instant!" She stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by recently-enlarged furniture, her hands planted on her hips, beginning to feel furious. She was tired, slightly jet-lagged, her hair was coming out of its tight knot, and she knew she looked awful. She was not in the mood for playing around.

She heard a soft _thump _and whirled to locate the source of the noise. She scanned the room but saw nothing.

"You have on your Invisibility Cloak," she stated triumphantly, looking around beadily for more telltale signs of movement. Her mood switched suddenly from playful to angry again, and she stamped her foot on the floor in a childish gesture. "If you don't come out right now, I'll curse you!"

She received no response, had expected none, and felt something go out of her. She sank onto the floor in surrender, hugging her knees to her chest. "Fine, ignore me. Go back to London in your stupid cloak and leave me alone, if you're going to be like that."

The silence changed. Instead of being hostile it now seemed as if it were listening for more.

"I was going to apologize," she tried. The stillness sucked up her small words, demanded more, begged for an explanation. "It's my fault," she continued haltingly. Apologizing wasn't something that she did well. "I wasn't being understanding enough, with the airport and all the fawning women and the flying and all, and you're right, I could have initiated conversations, and I was really unnerved by the address thing, and I thought you were mad at me, and I really didn't mean to—"

She was silenced by a familiar, invisible hand over her mouth, and reached, groping, for a handful of invisible cloak. Draco appeared, hair slightly tousled from the material, kneeling beside her, a smile beginning to grace his lips.

"You're blathering again," he whispered, his mouth alarmingly close to her ear. It was a terrifying feeling, having him that close; different somehow than his usual proximity would be, and yet exhilarating. "Would you mind terribly," he breathed, tracing her cheekbone with the tip of his finger, "if I broke a promise of mine?"

"The one about staying only friends?" Hermione whispered, bumping her knee gently against his hipbone, feeling a surge of something coursing through her.

"Mm." Draco rested his lips against her hairline. "I've never been very good at keeping promises." And Hermione was swept into a kiss unlike one she had ever experienced before, all lips and hands and passion.

When they finally broke apart, reluctantly, gasping for breath, there was a bit of an awkward silence. Draco finally broke it by grinning, grasping her hand in his, leaning over, and whispering, 

"You're adorable when you're upset." 

~*~

Eternal apologies to everyone for not writing anything for such a long time. All I can say is, I'm lazy. :-) I'll try not to do it again.

Fluff: Wow. Thank you very much. I have a theory about the review thing, about some getting more than others: I think it is mainly marketing combined with luck about whose stories get read. I think that a lot of it is based on when you put up new material, because depending on what time of day it is, or even what day it is, fluctuating amounts of people will notice it. Then it depends on how interesting the summary is. It's a stupid system (if my reasoning is even right), and I agree completely, it's not fair! *deep breath* Anyways…off of my random tangent…

burgundyred: What's going to happen now, you ask? Heh heh heh. Even I am not completely certain of that yet!

PinkTribeChick: Thanks, Nutcracker was great! Hope you like this one okay, too. :-)


	6. Beginnings

Over the next four days, Hermione began to feel slightly settled in, both in her new environment and in her new whatever-it-was with Draco. They had yet to officially discuss their "situation." Hermione was positive that it was more than a friends with benefits thing, but going so far as to declare it a relationship—that was a little scary. She wasn't quite ready for that big of a change yet. Plus, what if Ron and Harry found out? It'd be even harder to repair their friendship.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with some tea, recovering from a cleaning attack on the bathroom that had resulted in a shower of dust falling from the ceiling, when Draco bounced into the room, humming and clearly pleased with himself.

"Guess what?" he announced, sitting down backwards on a chair.

"You were attacked by a swarm of vultures who stole all your money and ate the couch," said Hermione, who was covered in dust and mildew and not in the greatest of moods.

"Nope." Draco displayed the miniature couch, which he had taken to be reupholstered, and brought it back to its normal size.

"The couch man told you that it would cost a million galleons to fix the couch, and _then_ a swarm of vultures came down from the sky and—"

He sighed. "How about I just tell you?"

Hermione gave him a petulant stare from over the top of her mug.

"I can stay here with you for two more days," he announced, beaming. "I just found out that the Ministry has advised all wizards not to Apparate to London until Wednesday. You know that big committee meeting they're having? Apparently there are going to be so many people attending that Apparations will be dangerous."

Hermione brightened a bit and spouted off some complex calculation that explained exactly why it would be so dangerous, which ultimately meant that two people could collide in midair and exchange body parts.

Draco pulled a face. "That's disgusting."

Hermione shrugged. "I didn't make the rules." She took another sip of tea and suddenly realized something. "Draco, what are you going to do all day while I'm at work?"

"I don't know." It was his turn to shrug. "I'll find something. I'm sure there'll be enough around here to do." He cast a critical stare around the apartment, which was in a very sad state of disrepair.

"It was the only one left in the building," Hermione said, feeling rather defensive about her new home. "They wanted me to be in the same place as the rest of the staff."

"I know," Draco said quickly. "I was just—um—suggesting that it would be nice of me to help you out here. . . ." He trailed off, not wanting to lose any more ground than he already had.

Hermione grimaced and held up her mold-speckled arm. "Hey, I'm not saying you're wrong. Thanks. I'd love the help."

"Good."

Hermione, foreseeing an awkward silence about to occur, got up and began clanking around in the sink with her mug.

"What time is it?" she called over the noise of running water.

"Almost nine."

"I should probably try to get some sleep," Hermione said, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. "Big day tomorrow."

"Mm."

"Goodnight, then."

She started down the hallway towards her bedroom, but stopped short as Draco called after her, "That's it?"

She turned and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"'Goodnight, then?'" he repeated. "That's all I get?"

"Oh." Hermione cottoned on and blushed. "I—um—I—"

"C'mere, you," Draco said, patting his knee and looking highly suggestive. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Hermione went over to him and carefully perched on his knee.

"Draco," she began hesitantly as he wrapped his arms around her, "I think we need to talk."

"About what?" Draco asked, his face buried in her hair. "You smell nice."

"I smell dusty," she corrected, shivering as he fluttered a finger down her bare arm, "and you're changing the subject."

"Am I?" He quirked an eyebrow at her, and without breaking their eye contact, brought her hand up to his lips. "Or," he whispered, muffled, "is it even relevant?" He placed a gentle kiss on each knuckle.

"Draco," she whispered, closing her eyes and shuddering, "seriously. . . ."

"Do you _really_ want to talk right now?" he asked teasingly. "I, personally, would much rather—"

"Draco! Could you please _listen to me?!"_

"Avoiding the subject is what I'm doing," he said, in response to her earlier comment, "because I don't feel like it's a necessary subject."

"Well, I do," Hermione said firmly, folding her arms. "I mean, what exactly is this? What are we doing?"

He shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

"Yes, it does!" She was incredibly frustrated. "I need to know!"

"Why?"

"Because—" She was finding it hard to put her feelings into words. "Because I—I—well, I know what I think, but it's hard to say."

"So what, you don't like it?" He was beginning to look slightly put out. "I thought—"

"No, I do like it," she interrupted, turning rosy, "I'm just a bit confused about exactly what it is."

"But does it matter what it is?" Draco asked, looking directly into her eyes. "Can't we just let things progress as they are?"

"I need to know what it is!" Hermione practically shouted. "Doesn't it bother you, living it without knowing what exactly it is, what you can and can't do? Don't you want to feel more settled in because you know if it's a relationship, you know if it's just a benefits thing, you know _what it is?!"_

She was expecting a highly emotional retort, but all he said was "Ahh," and leaned back looking as though he had just figured something out.

"'Ahh' what?" Hermione said grouchily.

"Would you like it to be a relationship?" he asked directly, ignoring her question.

"That's the problem," Hermione said, fidgeting, "I don't know."

"Do you want to just take things slowly and see what happens?" 

"I—uh—okay. Sure." There was a long silence.

"Are we going to get awkward because of this?" A slow smile was beginning to curve Draco's lips.

"That wasn't my intention," she said apologetically. "I just wanted to find out."

"I didn't help much, did I?"

"No," she grinned, feeling more relaxed, "not really, no."

"So this 'talk' hasn't changed anything, right?" he probed.

"Not a bit," Hermione said, feeling much happier than she had ever since the bathroom had decided to rain dust on her. "Except I think maybe I might have become bipolar recently. Because I don't see how else I could have gone from slightly depressed about mold to nervous to grouchy to raging to happy now."

"It's just the effect I have on people," Draco said, grinning.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," Hermione said to her lap, lacing her fingers through his.

"Quite understandable. I forgive you."

"No awkwardness?"

"Nope."

"Good."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?" she asked, grinning and poking him in the side, hoping to elicit a smile.

She succeeded. "Miss Granger," he growled, poking her back, "I'm not so sure you want to be doing that."

"Actually, Mister Malfoy," she said with a mock-solemn expression, jabbing him again, "I rather think that I do."

"And the consequences?" he threatened teasingly, wrapping his arms around her and exhaling into her neck.

"I'm not terribly worried," Hermione whispered, reaching up to weave her fingers through his hair.

Draco sighed. "As much as I don't want to suggest this, you probably should go to bed. Big day tomorrow." He unwound his arms and gave her a tiny peck on the forehead.

"Hmm," Hermione groaned, standing up and stretching. "I suppose you're right. Good night." She slowly made her way towards her room, stopped at the door and blew him a kiss, and went inside.

"Good night," Draco said softly.

*     *     *

"Okay. I can do this."

Draco, standing behind her at the fireplace the next morning, squeezed her shoulders gently. "They'll all love you."

"I hope so." Hermione took a deep breath and forced a smile. "See you later." She stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flames.

She emerged into a large room very similar to the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. She was swept into a sort of flood of people making their way to a set of doors that read "STAFF ENTRANCE". Once through the doors, Hermione shoved her way over to the side of the hallway to let the masses go by, and then began walking more slowly, reading the doors and looking for the office. Once she located it, she timidly knocked on the door, and heard a gruff, "Come in."

She stepped inside, a bit wary about what she was going to find. The office was cluttered with odd contraptions that reminded her forcefully of some of Dumbledore's possessions. Behind a huge desk piled with paperwork sat a large, balding man wearing sky blue robes.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" he said, after a pause during which Hermione stared around the office.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," she babbled. "Hermione Granger. I'm very sorry. Everything in here is so interesting and. . . ." She trailed off and stuck out her hand rather feebly. The man grasped it.

"Jerome Hutchins, Head of Staff," he said, with what he clearly thought was a winning grin. "Love the accent."

"Er. . . ."

"So," Jerome said quickly, sorting through one of the paper mountains in front of him. "You're the new girl, eh?" He pulled out what Hermione recognized as her résumé, and scanned it, muttering to himself. "Hmm . . . yes . . . well, I think I'll start you off up on Fourth. Spell Damage, you know."

"So, is the building set up the same way as St. Mungo's, then?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Jerome said absently, jotting something down on an official-looking form. "We've found it's easiest to get all the hospitals organized the same way. So people don't get confused coming in from other places, you know." He barked out a wheezy laugh.

"Ah," Hermione said intelligently. She watched him scribbling. "What will I be doing?"

"You can help the Healer-in-Charge, Jenna Faye. Run errands, help distribute potions, that sort of thing."

"I—uh—" Hermione took a deep breath. "I thought that my job description was a bit different than that."

"Hmm?" Jerome said, looking confused. "Oh—this will be just to get you used to working here, you know. Can't let you off on your own until you know the place, eh?"

"But if it's just like Mungo's," Hermione put in, desperate not to be reduced to an errand girl, "then I won't have any problem."

Jerome shrugged. "Sorry, dear. Everyone starts the same way."

"But I didn't apply to be a messenger girl!" Hermione said, fighting back tears. She dug into her satchel and pulled out her acceptance letter. "Look, it says here that my job includes "brewing and testing medicinal potions in the research department." I went to college to learn how to do this, Mr. Hutchins!"

"Really?" Jerome grabbed the parchment and brought it close to his face. "Whaddya know? Forgot all about that."

"So where should I go, then?" Hermione asked, relieved.

"Oh, I'm still starting you off with Jenna," Jerome said firmly, handing the letter back. "You'll get into this as soon as possible. I need to get everything sorted out. This wasn't entered in my records."

"I—oh, fine," Hermione said wearily. "I'll go find her, then."

"See ya later, Hermione!" Jerome waved cheerily at her. Hermione slammed the office door behind her and stalked off to find her new boss. She was not at all happy with the arrangement. If she hadn't been afraid of getting fired, she would have refused to leave the office until her demands were met—but losing the job before she had even started it was not acceptable. So—just for now—she would listen to Jenna.  
  


*     *     *

beachLEMON: Oh. My. Gosh. You just made me cry (happy tears). Thank you so much.


	7. Jenna Faye

Hermione walked down the hallway in confusion, muttering to herself and opening doors at random. "I don't know what he thinks he's talking about, this isn't at all like St. Mungo's," she grumbled, slamming shut a broom closet angrily. She finally located a staircase, followed it upwards, and emerged in the waiting room.

"Welcome!" said the Welcome Witch, so cheerily that Hermione decided she should be _Avada_ed as quickly as possible. "How may I be of service to you on this fine morning?"

Hermione stared with her mouth slightly open, decided that a disparaging comment to the Welcome Witch on her first day might appear as a black mark on her record, and blinked a few times. "I—uh—I'm looking for Spell Damage."

The Witch wheezed out a laugh. "Aren't we all, dearie? This is a hospital, you know. You're supposed to look for sick people." She flashed a happy, clueless grin.

Hermione blinked some more. "I mean the department."

"Excuse me?"

"The Spell Damage department," Hermione said loudly. "I've been assigned to work there. Could you tell me where it is, _please_?"

"Aaaah," the Witch said, a look of comprehension suddenly dawning on her face. "New, are you?"

"Could you please just direct me to the department?" Hermione said, resisting an urge to rip out all of the perfect blonde curls.

"I'd be delighted to," the Witch sang out, picking up a quill and beginning to scribble. "Spell Damage is on the third floor. You should have told me right away what you wanted, dear." 

Hermione gaped at her a few moments more, then spun abruptly on her heel and stalked towards the stairs.

"Welcome Witches," she grumbled as she stomped up the spiraling staircase amidst a flurry of whispers from the hanging portraits. "Stupid, blonde, _useless_ Welcome Witches!"

She continued past the first floor landing, still muttering to herself. A Healer passed by, giving her an odd look and clearly resisting the urge to ask if she was well. Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have laughed.

Hermione finally arrived at the third floor, expelled one final "_Witches!_", and stepped into a large waiting room. She looked around, feeling quite lost, and finally headed for the reception desk.

"I'm supposed to be working for Jenna," Hermione shot at the Healer behind the desk. The man blinked up at her dazedly.

"Good morning," he yawned. "Do you have a referral?"

"I—need—to—find—Jenna—Faye," Hermione enunciated slowly. "Could—you—please—direct—me—"

"Whozat?"

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Jerome Hutchins told me that I'm working for Jenna Faye, the Healer-in-Charge of Spell Damage. Where is she?"

"Aaah," the Healer said suddenly, reminiscently of the Welcome Witch. "Healer Faye. Her office is back through that door—" he pointed "—fifth room on the right." He grabbed for a mug and took a large swig of coffee.

Hermione stormed off, shoved open the door so hard that it banged against the wall, and thundered down the hallway, wondering what was wrong with everyone in the hospital. It was almost as if there was a giant Memory Charm over the whole place. . . .

She stopped abruptly outside said office and rapped harshly. "Come in, it's open," a cheery-sounding voice called. Hermione felt a surge of hope well up as she tentatively pushed open the door. Jenna Faye sounded like she could actually be a normal person.

Hermione stared at the witch behind the desk as she slowly shut the door behind herself. Jenna looked to be about thirty, the youngest Healer-in-Charge Hermione had ever seen; she was wearing square, studious-looking glasses with her long dark hair pulled back out of her face; and, Hermione noted happily, her desktop was _organized_.

"Can I help you?" Jenna asked politely, looking a bit confused as to who the strange witch staring at her was.

"Yes, sorry, I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said, shaking the offered hand. "Mr. Hutchins told me that I'm supposed to work for you. . . ."  
  


"Did he?" A faint look of surprise crossed Jenna's face. "That's weird. I told him I didn't need any more staff up here—not that I don't want you," she added quickly, seeing the crestfallen look on Hermione's face. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful. I read your application. Medicinal potions research, eh? Me too."

"So why're you in Spell Damage, then?" Hermione asked curiously.

Jenna sighed heavily. "This place," she said, waving her hand around vaguely, "has the worst organizational staff possible. There are virtually no connections between departments, files get lost, and no one knows where anything is."

"But it's the best hospital in our world!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Yup," Jenna nodded. "Once you figure out how everything works here—or rather, doesn't work—it's really not all that bad. It's actually nice being the head of a department . . . all sorts of paid vacations and things . . ." She motioned Hermione into a chair.

"I don't understand how that's possible," Hermione said heavily, her head spinning, feeling as if she were slightly in shock. "You'd think it would just fall apart."

Jenna shrugged. "As long as it doesn't, I won't complain. Now, let me see . . ." She pointed at a file cabinet with her wand, and several folders zoomed out and landed on her desk. _Color-coded_, Hermione thought happily.

"Like I told you, we're not exactly short of help," Jenna muttered, partly to herself, flipping through the folders. "I suppose that for now at least, you can just come around with me and help me out, see how the place works, you know."

"Fine with me," Hermione said quickly, not wanting to get sent back down to Jerome.

"So," Jenna told her, levitating the files back into the cabinet, "I'll find someone to give you a tour of the place. I would do it myself, but there's a difficult case in the Pittiman ward . . . I'll try to get Janis, she does tours all the time, but I'm not sure if Dory can handle Scrimgeour all by herself . . . but don't worry," she added, seeing the bewildered look on Hermione's face, "once you get used to the place it's easy to find your way around." She gave an encouraging smile, and flicked her wand and muttered something unintelligible. "Janis?"

"Yeah?" The responding voice sounded as though it were coming from directly behind Hermione, but when she turned to look, there was no one there.

"Can you find someone to cover for you?" Jenna asked, crossing her fingers. "I need you to give a tour."

"Oh, Dory's fine here," Janis replied, "there's only two patients." Hermione watched Jenna in fascination; she had never encountered this kind of magical intercom before.

"So that's settled, then," Jenna sighed, laying her wand down on her desk. "Janis'll be here in a minute or two. Come to the Pittiman ward when you're all done. I'll see you later, Hermione," she said with a friendly smile, standing up. "Hope you like working here."

"Thank you," Hermione grinned, but as soon as the door was closed behind her new boss she allowed the smile to fade. Unless she was very wrong, and she was hardly ever wrong, nobody in the entire building, with the exception of Jenna Faye, had any clue how a hospital was supposed to work. She didn't understand how it could be considered the best hospital in the wizarding world if no one on staff could even tell a new employee how to navigate the place.

Hermione was examining a photograph on the wall when the doorknob turned with a squeak. She jumped back quickly, trying not to appear as if she had just been spying, and smiled broadly at the Healer who stepped in.

"Hi, Janis Murtlap," said the gray-haired woman in a business-like way. She stuck out her hand and Hermione took it.

"Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."

Over the next two and a half hours, Janis led a very lost Hermione all over the huge building. Hermione only caught snippets of descriptions like ". . . this is Potion and Plant Poisoning, we have a special ward for children under five, you know how they always get into the ingredients cabinets . . . up those stairs—no, we're not going up—that's where we put some of the more dangerous patients . . ." Her sentence was punctuated by a distant crashing. "Moving on. . . ."

By the time they arrived back on the third floor, Hermione was completely turned around and bewildered. Janis left her with a gruff, "See you around," and retreated down another hallway. Hermione, trying to sort out her bearings with her muddled mind, realized that she had absolutely no idea where Jenna and the Pittiman ward were. With a heavy sigh, she headed for the reception desk again.

"Where's the Pittiman ward?" she asked the man, who looked slightly more awake than he had two and a half hours ago.

"Through that door—" he pointed at a doorway opposite "—down the hallway. All the way on the end."

"Thank you," Hermione said politely, amazed at the transformation affected by a mug of coffee. She weaved through the rows of chairs, some containing severely hexed patients, and started down the hallway, scanning the plaques on the doors as she went. The door at the end, her destination, had the largest plaque of all:

DOUGLAS A. PITTIMAN WARD__

Experimental Charms

Spell Damage Department

Healer-in-Charge: Jenna Faye

Hermione took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She glanced around warily. There appeared to be only one patient—only one bed had curtains pulled around it, and all the rest were empty. Jenna was sitting next to the bed with two other Healers; all three looked slightly disheveled.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said timidly. Jenna whipped around, her finger to her lips to indicate silence, and the other Healers, a man and a woman, started in fright. _I'm sorry_, Hermione mouthed, shutting the door carefully behind her and beginning to tiptoe towards them. Jenna shook her head in dismissal and handed Hermione a file, motioning for her to open it. Hermione looked carefully at the patient information sheet, and after a few moments, glanced up in confusion. Jenna motioned to the Healers that she would be back in a moment, took Hermione by the arm, and led her out into the hallway.

"He's noise-sensitive," she said by way of explanation. "Every time he hears a loud sound, something triggers, and . . . well, he becomes very—_difficult_ to control."

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice.

Jenna sighed heavily. "We don't know yet. It's not a standard charm that was placed on him. It was an accident—his wife says that his four-year old daughter got a hold of his wand. . . ."

Hermione winced. Jenna nodded in solemn agreement.

"I thought you should help with this," she continued, "even though it's not medicinal potions; at least it's something to do. I mean, it is a sort of research thing—you know, what are the symptoms, is there a possibility the daughter knew any real magic, etcetera."

"Of course," Hermione said quickly. "I'll do anything."

"Good," said Jenna wearily, "because no one else is available to." She gave a wry grin. "Healers Danko and Watts in there—" she gestured with her thumb back at the ward "—must be getting back to their own departments, quote as they have much more pressing matters to attend to unquote."

"Ugh," Hermione said sympathetically. Jenna opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a loud roaring.

"Oh, no," Jenna said frantically, grabbing for the doorknob, "I never should have left them in there alone, Jerome'll _kill_ me if anything happens—" Hermione, rushing in on her heels, saw the two Healers cowering in a corner, and the patient advancing towards them. Hermione had every intention to help, and even had her wand out, but at the first sight of Mr. Berriman, she froze in her tracks. He was barely recognizable as a human being: huge wings sprouted from his back; he had three-inch long retractable claws, which were very much in view at the moment; and he was covered in fur. Hermione stood staring as Jenna directed spells at him; eventually he seemed to calm down. He retreated to his bed, and appeared to fall asleep.

Jenna cast a silencing spell over his bed and drew the curtains, and then advanced on the two Healers, shaking with suppressed rage.

"Did I not tell you, many times, not to talk near him when I took off the silencing charm?" she demanded, appearing much larger than usual in her anger. "Did I not tell you, repeatedly, that he is _highly dangerous_? Do you know that you could have been _killed_?!"

Hermione watched in amusement as the Healers, both of whom were much older than Jenna, babbled unintelligible apologies. She watched her boss visibly collect herself.

"Please," Jenna said calmly, the only sign of her anger betrayed by the clenching of her fists, "remove yourselves from my department before I maul you myself." Hermione stepped aside to let them pass, lowering her head so they wouldn't see the trembling of her lips. She heard the door close and looked up at Jenna, a smile threatening.

"Er—where do they work, exactly?"

"Creature-Induced Injuries," Jenna muttered, glaring daggers at the door. "Jerome thought that they might be able to quote identify exactly what the dangerous creature appears to be unquote. Of course they can't. It's probably something that the little girl had nightmares about." She kicked a chair and it tipped over, one of the legs breaking off. "I can't keep a silencing charm on all the time because he gets disoriented," she explained. "It's not good for him; all he can hear are his own noises, and he gets confused."

"Ah," Hermione said intelligently.

Jenna heaved a sigh. "Well, come on," she said, magically repairing the broken chair. "We won't do any good standing around in here. Make sure you lock the door whenever you leave," she added, using her wand to lock it behind them. She removed the silencing charm and began down the hallway, heels clacking. "You can just work in my office for now, I suppose. Come on."

*     *     *

It was a very exhausted Hermione who tottered down the spiral staircase, along the staff hallway, through the entrance hall, and into a fireplace. She stumbled out into her apartment in a puff of soot and collapsed onto the sofa with a groan. 

"Draco?" she called. "Where are you?"

She was answered by silence.

"Come on, Draco," Hermione whined, standing up. "Where are you? I need to talk to you!"

She headed for the kitchen, looking around for any signs of life, and spotted a scrap of parchment lying on the kitchen table. She picked it up and recognized his slanted handwriting:

_My dearest Mya,_

_I can't express how frustrated I am not to be here waiting for you to come home from work. We've gotten this far together, and now I am forced to desert you at the last minute. I wanted (laugh away) to be waiting with tea and biscuits, like we always have, but I'm afraid you're going to have to get them yourself. At __five o'clock_—Hermione glanced up to see that it was four thirty—_I will have a cup of peppermint tea in your honor. _She smiled.

_A few minutes ago—it's __one thirty__ now—I received an urgent note from my boss. I am needed back in __England__ immediately—something's come up at work, and he needs my help. I took a Portkey back, so don't worry about my colliding with someone in midair and . . . how did you term it? Exchanging body parts? _

_Anyways . . . I just wanted to tell you that I would be waiting if I could._

_And that I love you._

_I'll come visit on Saturday, after the body-part crisis is over._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

*     *     *

First off, an apology is in order:

I know that I haven't updated for a really, really long time. I'm sorry. I haven't been in a writing mood since—I can't even think when. Just trust me that if I had forced myself to churn out this chapter, it would have been horrible and nothing at all would have happened. I needed time to process this in my mind, I needed time to create what the hospital and Jenna would be like, and I needed time where I didn't have anything due and wasn't sick. That time was today. I'm very sorry if I'm losing readers this way, but this is how I work. I'm a procrastinator by nature. All I can say is I promise I will see this story through until it's finished. Don't give up on me, please.

I don't want to make a habit of replying to every single person who reads this, but I will occasionally have something to say:

Priah: It's really interesting that you say that, because awhile ago, my biggest problem was that nothing really happened plot-wise in my stories. This is probably the first time in my life that I've ever put my characters through hell without feeling guilty about it or taking it easy on them. Nothing bad ever happened. Their lives were perfect. I'm really, really, really glad you noticed what you did, because even though it may sound weird, I've been wanting to make more bad things happen. I feel almost hypocritical writing this because I still don't feel like they're entirely realistic; but I don't know. I'm glad that you think they are. Thank you.

beachLEMON: Actually, I'm from Massachusetts, have never been to New York, and am only using it because I needed a big city and Boston is boring. :-) I get kind of hazy myself sometimes; I would LOVE a Draco kind of friend with benefits. He he he.

All other reviewers: Thank you so incredibly much for reading it! And for actually reviewing.

Oh yeah, one more note: people who put themselves on my author alert list and then don't even bother to review the story—heh. Please? Just say _something_. I would rather have a short review than no review. C'mon. It takes 30 seconds, and then you will have my eternal gratitude.


	8. You left me

Hermione reached blindly for a chair and sat. The parchment that was clutched between her fingers trembled. He wasn't there. The thought of his warm embrace and his soothing words had been all there was getting her through the day; and he had left her. She reread the letter, more slowly this time. She was trying her hardest to be absolutely furious with him, but it was impossible.

_Writing's always been his strength_, she thought fondly, smiling as she read his words for the third time. Somehow, in such a brief note, he managed to convey the same feelings he would if he were there in person. He was apologetic, placed all the blame on himself, and still managed to get in a bit of wittiness. There was no way for her to be mad at him. She loved reading his letters.

The shock and frustration caused by his absence was fading away, and she began feeling empty. Loneliness tended to be one of her Achilles' heels; she would mope around and stew and become a miserable wreck of a person, and she knew it. She automatically looked around for Crookshanks, then remembered, and smiled wistfully.

"I should get a new pet," she said aloud. She stood up, stretched, and meandered out into the half-unpacked living room. She carefully folded Draco's note into a small, tidy square, and reached up and took a small wooden box from the top shelf of the bookcase. She lifted off the delicately carved lid and placed the note inside, adding to a large collection of letters and fragments of parchment, all in the same slanted handwriting. She replaced the box in its niche. She walked back into the messy kitchen, took awhile locating the teakettle in a large cardboard box, and heated the water with a tap of her wand. She found a box of teabags in one of the cupboards, and set about preparing a cup of tea.

She sat at the table with the steaming cup, breathing in the peppermint scent. She glanced up. It was five o'clock.

"Here's to you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quietly, raising the teacup to an invisible person. She sipped, and then sat, cradling the cup in her hands, staring off into space. The first tear trailed its way down her cheek and fell into the sweet tea.

- - -

Her second morning at Curatio Validus was no less hectic or confusing than the first. She was swept upstairs with a rush of Healers and went to Jenna's office, unsure of what she was supposed to do.

Jenna led her to a large room in the staff hallway of the department, explaining along the way that there were many workers in the hospital who weren't technically Healers, and that they all worked in one room. Hermione was assigned a small cubicle on the end of a row of many more cubicles.

"You can put anything on the walls, as long as it isn't permanent," Jenna explained, "and I'll send you copies of patients' files as soon as I can." She looked around conspiratorially and whispered, "I'll try to get you into potions work as soon as possible. Sorry you're stuck here." She gave a sympathetic smile, ignoring Hermione's attempts to apologize. "No, don't, I know exactly how you feel. You shouldn't be working here. I'll tell you what. Why don't you spend the day setting up in here?" She gestured around Hermione's small, empty cubicle. "You can go home to get photos and things, and you should look around at some of the other cubicles for inspiration. Have fun. I'll either be in Pittiman or my office if you need anything." She grinned and walked off.

Hermione felt a bit guilty about spending the day decorating, but reluctantly began walking down the row of cubicles, glancing inside to see how their owners had designed them. Not many people had arrived yet. It seemed as though no one cared if you actually showed up on time or not. Hermione resolved to be a model worker so that she could get into her real job as soon as possible.

Most of the tiny workspaces had the same basic setup: a large desk, filing cabinets (_they depend an awful lot on files,_ Hermione thought), shelves, and many personal touches. The decorations ranged from photos of happily waving friends and family, to a small dining table complete with goblet, place setting, checkered tablecloth, and vase of flowers, to lingerie advertisements ripped from Muggle magazines. Hermione was grateful that this last cubicle was empty of people as she hurried away, cheeks flaming. Still feeling a bit guilty that she wasn't doing any real work, she spent the rest of the day setting up and went home early, with Jenna's permission.

- - -

On Friday morning, Hermione woke with a yawn, sleepily donned her robes, looked at her clock, swore, and rushed to her fireplace. Only by sprinting through the hallways of the hospital was she able to arrive at her cubicle at nine o'clock. She collapsed into her chair, breathing heavily. After finally regaining her breath, she noticed a neatly written parchment lying on her nearly empty desk, and she picked it up and scanned it quickly. As her eyes took in the last few words, they dulled. She dropped the parchment on the floor and heaved a sigh. There was no work for her yet. She spent the rest of her workday rearranging her photos of Draco.

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace into her apartment at five o'clock, dazed. She hadn't spoken a word to anyone all day, not even to the kind witch across the passage who always said "Good morning." She had never felt so useless in her life. Hermione walked slowly through her apartment, hardly knowing where she was going, feeling her way along the wall. She banged her hipbone on the back of a chair, and bit back a cry of pain and frustration. She realized that there was a door in front of her, grasped the doorknob, and found herself in her bedroom. She looked around vaguely at the sick yellow walls and the worn carpet, and at her furniture, which seemed overly large. She caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall; she looked at her blotchy face and swollen eyes, and turned away quickly. She sat on the bed and stared out the window, watching the pigeons waddling around on the fire escape.

She didn't feel his presence at first. Then, suddenly, she knew. She didn't know how—maybe she had noticed a slight draft, or caught the faint scent of his cologne—but she knew for certain that he was standing in the doorway. She whirled around and there he was, solid and inviting-looking, leaning against the doorframe and grinning.

"Have you developed a fascination for pigeons in the time that I've left you here?" Draco asked, smiling broadly, and she rushed into his arms. He was strong and warm and very much there.

"You left me," she accused, her face buried in his chest. She pulled back to look into his eyes. "You _left._"

He sighed. "Yes, I left. And I feel horrible for it." He put on expert puppy-dog eyes. "Forgive me?"

Hermione hit him on the chest in frustration. "Yes."

He spread his arms wide. "Hit me as much as you want."

She sighed. "I have." She put her head down on his chest and breathed in his faint cologne, closing her eyes as his arms went around her again. "I missed you."

His grip tightened. "I missed you too."

They stood for a few minutes, content to savor the moment. Eventually Draco broke the silence.

"Get dressed. We'll go out for dinner."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about the city," Hermione complained. "All I've done is gone to work and tried to fix up the flat."

"Speaking of," Draco said, looking genuinely interested, "how is work?"

Many things flashed through Hermione's mind, decisions and consequences. She put on a smile that felt horribly fake, and said through gritted teeth, "Work's lovely."

- - -

"See?" Draco said contentedly, laying his chopsticks down. "I told you it would be perfectly fine."

Hermione looked around the dingy interior of the Chinese restaurant and heaved a sigh. "You were right. As always."

He smiled. "I told you to trust me."

"Even you lose some of my trust when you're leading me into a place that looks like it's infested with cockroaches," Hermione muttered.

"I heard that."

"I know."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Hermione's bleak mood hanging over them both like a thundercloud. Draco absentmindedly ran his finger around and around the edge of his water glass, and Hermione occupied herself by attempting to pick up single grains of rice with her chopsticks.

"How's work?" Draco said finally, looking at her. "Honestly."

Hermione's throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. "I told you, it's lovely. My boss is very nice." _It's true,_ she told herself. _It's not Jenna's fault they're overstaffed._

"Mm-hmm," Draco said, a suspicious look in his gray eyes. "What are you doing exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet," Hermione said, which was, essentially, the truth. "It's only my first week, after all. I haven't really been given an official assignment yet."

"Alright," he sighed, standing up. "I'm not sure what or why you don't want to tell me, but okay, I'll respect that. Are you done eating?"

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. He helped her into her jacket, left some money on the table, and guided her out. They walked down the sidewalk in silence, his arm around her shoulders, as a few raindrops began to sprinkle down.

Hermione was lost in thought, which Draco could clearly see as he glanced down at her lovely face, and he chose to let her be instead of attempting another awkward conversation. Something in her had changed since Monday; she was restless and fidgety, which was understandable, as she was getting used to a new environment. But there was a terseness playing around the edge of her being, something which he wished he could take away and let her be herself again. It was that curtness which had put invisible barriers between them, so he couldn't even talk to her as he used to be able to. He wished she would just tell him what was wrong; but until she did, being with her was going to be very awkward.

Hermione's thoughts closely resembled his, although she didn't know why everything felt different between them. _Is it my fault?_ she wondered. Maybe she should have told him the truth about work. But she had never been a good receiver of sympathy—it made her feel as though her problems were entirely her fault, and the sympathetic person was merely trying to point that out. She heaved a sigh, and Draco's arm around her tightened.

"Cold?"

"No, I'm fine," she answered.

"I can hold my jacket over your head," he offered, looking up at the ominous sky, which was beginning to let go of the rain a little more freely, "so your hair doesn't get messed up."

Hermione snorted. "The rain might be an improvement, actually, if you hadn't noticed the massive ball of frizz sitting on top of my head."

He gave her hair a calculating look. "I'm not seeing a massive ball of frizz."

"You're just being nice," Hermione said, smiling a little despite herself.

He saw victory. "I can be nicer." He moved his hand to trace her cheekbone gently.

She giggled. "Very nice, but quite inaccurate." She swatted at his hand. "People are looking at us funny."

"And you care why?"

Hermione shrugged, jolting his hand away from her face.

"Oh, come on," Draco joked, now toying with one of her curls. "You can't tell me that you care more about what they think than about me."

"I suppose not," she said, a smile creeping onto her face. "You're about to walk us right past my flat."

"Oh," he said, looking up at the building with a startled expression. Hermione laughed softly.

"Why don't you let me steer now?" she suggested, walking up the steps and taking out her wand with a furtive glance around. She placed the tip of it on the doorknob, muttered something, and watched in satisfaction as the door swung open. "That's only the second time I've used that spell," she admitted happily, leading him into the lobby. "I love it when they work."

"Ah," said Draco intelligently, never having experienced the feeling. He followed Hermione into the large fireplace, braced himself as they swirled around in green flames, and emerged, blinking, into her disheveled living room.

"I think it's gotten worse since you left," Hermione said apologetically, tossing her jacket on the couch. "I haven't had much time to care about how the place looks."

"I can help you with it tomorrow, if you want," he offered. "I can stay until Sunday night. You don't have to go to work tomorrow, do you?"

Hermione shook her head wordlessly.

Draco opened his mouth, decided it would be better to leave his comment unspoken, and shut it again.

"What?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Nothing."

"Okay." Wanting desperately to avoid another awkward silence, she cast around for something, anything, to say, and ended up with, "How are things back home?"

"Not bad."

And there was another silence.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said eventually, still trying to regain their old familiarity. "It's my fault. And after you went to all that trouble to cheer me up, too." He was standing near the fireplace with his arms folded, looking tense, and she went over to him and wrapped her arms around him. After a moment he relaxed, and unfolded his arms and rested his chin on top of her head.

"It was that obvious?"

"Mm-hmm." She breathed in his scent, remembering that they had stood the same way when he first arrived, and pressed herself closer to him. "But I forgive you. It worked."

She could feel him smiling into her hair. "Good."

They stood quietly for a few minutes, but this time, the silence, instead of being hard and uncomfortable, allowed the unspoken sentiments to be made clear.

"Draco?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry."

He exhaled into her hair, running a tentative finger up and down her bare arm. "It's alright. I understand."

That was all she needed. She knew it was silly, but with Draco's forgiveness, she felt as though everything would turn out all right. She suddenly felt horribly guilty for not telling him the truth about work. She looked up at him. "Draco, I—"

"Shh," he told her gently, placing the finger on her lips. "I know. It's okay, Mya. You can tell me when you want to."

"Thank you," she whispered. Her head suddenly felt too heavy to be upright, and she let it relax onto his shoulder with a sigh. "You make me happy," she whispered into his shoulder.

He placed a gentle kiss on top of her head. "I'm glad."

They stood for a few moments, simply savoring the feeling, until Hermione suddenly shivered.

"Sure you aren't cold?" Draco asked in a teasing tone.

"Oh, fine," Hermione grumbled, "I'm cold."

"Here," Draco said, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the sofa. He unfolded the fleece blanket that had been hanging over the back and wrapped it around Hermione's body. "Are you tired, too?"

She nodded. He stretched himself out on the sofa, and motioned for her to join him. She snuggled in next to him, resting her head on his chest, and exhaled contentedly.

"Thank you," she murmured as he switched off the light. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Draco."

Within minutes, all that could be heard within the apartment was the soothing sound of soft breathing. A beam of moonlight shone in through a gap in the curtains, illuminating Draco's pale hair and casting a soft glow on Hermione's features.

- - -

Just some slight changes—I kind of wrote myself into a corner with the way it was before. I felt like I needed to fix some things, so hopefully it's a better chapter now. I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible, promise.


	9. Misunderstandings

Note: if you didn't read the revised version of chapter 8, go do that first. Otherwise you will be really confused.

* * *

Hermione awoke groggily. A slanted ray of sunlight cut across her face, and she quickly threw a hand up to shield her eyes with a groan of complaint. She tried to roll over before remembering that she was clasped tightly in Draco's arms, and settled instead for turning her head to the side. They had shifted during the night: she found that she was staring directly at his neck. The sunlight didn't wake him. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like her name, and his arms tightened around her. Hermione smiled and gently planted a kiss on his neck. She snuggled closer to him and shut her eyes.

Draco, who was definitely not asleep, allowed a small smile to creep to his lips.

"Good morning."

Hermione gasped, and her eyes flew open. "I thought you were asleep!"

"Nope."

"Oh." She was quiet for a minute. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"You already said that."

"I know."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "You're so—so—"

"What?" he asked innocently.

She smacked him on the shoulder. "_You_."

"What are we going to do today?" Draco asked, completely immune to her repeated whacks.

"Clean the flat."

"Can't wait."

-----

"Ugh."

"I agree."

"I didn't think that it was physically possible for that much grime to exist in one place."

"Apparently it is very possible."

Hermione and Draco emerged, dirty and disheveled, from the kitchen, clutching bottles of magical cleaning supplies and wearing identical expressions of revulsion.

"Ugh," Hermione repeated. "Ugh, ugh, ugh."

"I think I'll take a shower," Draco said, looking down at himself in disgust.

"Can't bear having the taint of my filthy kitchen on you?" Hermione teased. She displayed her dirty hands and waved them dangerously close to his face.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" Draco shouted, mock-seriously, and ran into the bathroom. Hermione chased after him, and was just in time to body-slam into the door as he closed it behind him. She heard the click of the lock as it slid into place.

"Ha!" he said triumphantly. "I win."

"Ow," Hermione responded, hoping to elicit sympathy. She was answered only by the sound of water running. "I get the shower when you're done."

"Who else is going to want it?"

"You are _impossible_," she told him vehemently, and flounced off to the living room. She was planning on spending her time in a useful way, and was heading over to the bookshelf, but Draco's _Daily Prophet_ caught her eye instead. Eager to catch up on London news, she sank onto the sofa with the newspaper and unfurled it.

"'Ministry of Magic Shocker: New Regulation Stuns Many,'" she read aloud. "They're still bungling things up, apparently." She flipped to the next page and continued scanning the print for interesting-looking articles.

She was reading through the gossip column, chuckling over the news of Dean and Lavender's upcoming wedding, when one of the paragraphs caught her eye:

'Which 'Dream Team' recently split with bad feelings when she left them for a new friend? The two men of the formerly close trio say that her loyalties now lie elsewhere, even after all they've accomplished together. Will she leave her errant ways and return to her forgiving friends?'

Hermione's mouth dropped open. The gossip was so blatantly about her, Harry, and Ron that even someone like Neville Longbottom would realize it. And Harry and Ron's supposed statement was so biased and over-exaggerated that it made Hermione wonder what else was being said about her. She wasn't even a conspicuous figure—why would the public care what she did with her life?

She heard the squeak of the bathroom door and turned towards the sound. "Draco?" she called. "Can you come here?"

He entered the room, shirtless, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. "Wha—oh."

"'Oh'?" Hermione repeated, following his gaze to the newspaper. "Did you also happen to read a certain tidbit of gossip in here?" She shook the paper in his direction.

"Well—I—uh—"

"What else are people saying about me?" she demanded, becoming more incensed with every second longer that she looked at his guilty expression. "Why do they care? It's not as if I'm important to the public eye or anything—why make such a big deal of it?"

Draco sighed. "Please don't, Mya."

"How do you expect me to read something like this and not react?" Hermione said passionately. "They were my friends for my whole magical life. Now they're putting _gossip_ about me in a newspaper that all of England is going to read! And all you can say is 'please don't'?!"

Draco was quiet for a few moments. "They care about you because of Harry," he said finally. "Don't you realize how exposed he makes you? Everyone cares about what happens to him, and right now, that's you."

"But—I don't—" Hermione stuttered.

"If you really want to know," he continued, "this small paragraph is minor, really. _Magic Today _actually interviewed Harry about it. _Witch Weekly_ interviewed Harry _and_ Ron, and turned the whole thing into a cover-page story. Everyone in London's talking about it."

"What?" Hermione said weakly, certain that her face was turning white.

"Not about me, of course," Draco said with a bit of a smirk. "Harry and Ron don't quite feel up to admitting that they've been upstaged by me yet again."

"What?!" Hermione shot to her feet, outraged, forgetting about her initial shock. "Could you be any _more_ egotistical? How is this upstaging them? And what do you mean yet again? Have you forgotten that the whole reason _why_ I came here was for a job?"

"Wait a min—"

"You haven't changed at all since Hogwarts!" Hermione ranted on. "I thought you were different, really I did, but all you care about is yourself!"

"Hermione."

"I really don't—" She froze as what he had said sunk in, and stared at him. "You—you called me—Hermione," she whispered.

He sighed wearily. "Look, Hermione . . . you jump on me all the time. At least give me a chance to explain myself."

She was suddenly mute.

"What I said isn't what _I_ think," he said quietly. "I was just stating what Harry and Ron think. That's why the gossip columns are making such a big deal about you—because they don't know about me. If I could, I would only let them talk about me."

He took a deep breath.

"I hate to say this, especially now, under these circumstances—but I think maybe we need to take some time off. From each other."

Hermione gaped at him silently.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said hurriedly. "It's not because I hate you—quite the opposite, actually—but I think this will be good for us, really I do. I think we just need some time to really think: for you to think if New York is really the right place for you, since you certainly don't seem happy here; and for me to think if—well—"

"Maybe you should go," Hermione interrupted, her voice so icy that it startled herself. "If you don't think we should be together, then why don't you just get out."

"No, wait, that's not what I mean," Draco tried to say, but she cut him off.

"Leave. Get out. Go away!"

He reached out to her. "Mya—"

"Don't call me that!" she shrieked hysterically, jerking away from him. "Get out of my flat!" No sound came out, but her shoulders heaved up and down with silent tears. "Please just leave me alone."

He was silent. Then, finally, "Okay." And with a loud _CRACK!,_ he disappeared.

* * *

Really, really short, I know. Sorry. Next chapter will be longer, I promise.


	10. Unfairness

"Hermione?"

Hermione turned to her boss and forced a tired smile. "Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Jenna asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "You don't look like you've slept much."

"I'm perfectly fine," Hermione replied in a chipper-sounding voice. "Lots of traffic outside my window last night. No problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes."

"You could go home if you want," Jenna offered.

"No!" Hermione said, a little too quickly. "No, no thank you. I'd rather be here, honestly."

"Well, if you're sure. . . ."

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay, then."

Jenna watched Hermione retreat quickly down the hallway, a small, fragile-looking figure. Something was not quite right with her. "She needs something to do," Jenna said aloud. She sighed and headed in the direction of her office.

Hermione arrived in her cubicle, expecting a place of sanctuary, and instead was confronted by multiple grinning Dracos on the walls. A dry sob tore from her throat, and she fumbled for her wand and, with shaking fingers, directed all the photographs into one neat pile. She snatched it up, avoiding the sight of his face, and stuffed the pictures into one of her desk drawers, which she locked with her wand. She groped for her chair and sat down heavily, placing her wand on top of her desk. She blinked rapidly, forcing away tears, and heaved a long shuddering breath.

When Jenna arrived, carrying a large pile of folders , Hermione was sitting with her head propped up on her hand, staring blankly off into space.

"Hermione?" Jenna asked worriedly. "Are you sure you don't want to take a sick day?"

Hermione jumped. "No, no, I'm fine," she said quickly, straightening up.

"No, you're obviously not," Jenna responded, setting her pile on Hermione's desk with a frustrated _thump_. "What's the matter?"

"I'm not sick," Hermione said forcefully, "I'm just tired."

"I'm sending you home," Jenna announced, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but you obviously can't work like this."

"No, please," Hermione begged. "Let me stay. I would much rather be here than at home. You don't understand . . ."

Jenna must have suddenly noticed the bareness of Hermione's walls. "You two broke up," she said bluntly.

Hermione shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm sorry," Jenna said quietly, giving Hermione's back an encouraging pat. "I know what it feels like." Hermione gave no response. "Here," Jenna said presently, "I've brought you copies of all the files of patients in our department. You can sort them out, and then, after lunch, you can make the rounds with me and learn how I change details on the records. It's called a Protean Charm—I assume you've heard of it."

Hermione laughed softly, recalling the DA back in fifth year. "Oh, yes. I know it."

"Good," Jenna said, backing out of the tiny room. "I'll come find you after lunch, then."

"All right."

Hermione began sifting through the small mountain of paperwork sitting on her desk, alphabetizing, color-coding, and sorting it into drawers. It was mind-numbing, time-consuming work, and it took her mind off other matters. She was slogging her way through the Fs when a magical bell sounded, signaling the beginning of the lunch hour. She sighed, looked out into the hallway, shook her head, and kept working.

An hour later a second bell rang, and Hermione didn't even lift her head from Claire Kennadie's file. She ignored the flood of wizards streaming by her cubicle, chattering loudly. She concentrated instead on her mundane work, not allowing any thoughts to go through her mind except occasional ones like "Should I start a new color category?"

There was a knock on the wall of her cubicle and she jumped, sending bits of parchment flying.

"Oh, sorry," Jenna said apologetically, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Hermione said quickly, summoning the parchment back onto her desk. "Do you want me now?"

"Please."

Hermione stood and followed Jenna down the hallway to her office. "Every day I poke my head in all the wards just to check on things," Jenna explained on the way. "I update my master records with any changes, and because of the Protean Charm, everyone's records change. I've found it's the most efficient way. I just need to pop in here and grab my quill—" She ducked into her office and reemerged clutching a gaudy pink flamingo feather quill, laughing at the revolted look on Hermione's face. "I know, it's hideous. It was a present, and I felt kind of obligated to use it. Come on."

She led the way out into the waiting area, stopped briefly to mutter something encouraging to a woman who sat wringing a handkerchief in her hand and looking pale as death, and then went down another hallway that Hermione hadn't entered before. Jenna stopped at the first doorway and stuck her head in.

"Good afternoon, Janis," she said, smiling. "Just checking in—how're things going?"

"Farell's the same," Janis replied, wiping her hands briskly on the sides of her robes. "She's—oh, hello, Hermione—still a bit confused . . . can't understand why we won't let her leave. Genera seems to be improving—at least, the swelling's going down. Dory says that she was very unwilling to take her potion yesterday morning." She lowered her voice. "You know how she gets."

"Mm-hmm," Jenna said distractedly, scribbling on an empty chart. "Still under control though, right?"

"Of course," Janis said confidently. "Dory and me are all set here. She's learning fast, that one."

"Good afternoon, Dory," Jenna called, leaning past Janis to look into the ward.

"Good afternoon, Healer Faye," a young blonde Healer-in-Training answered cheerily, looking up from a tower of paperwork that rivaled Hermione's. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Jenna replied. "Well, thanks Janis, have to be moving on."

"See you 'round," Janis said to Hermione with a brisk grimace that Hermione supposed passed for a smile, and shut the door of her ward. Hermione looked at Jenna, feeling very left out and bewildered.

"Didn't catch a word?" Jenna smiled at the confused look on Hermione's face. "It's really not that difficult. You get used to it. Basically—" she was scribbling furiously on Emma Genera's chart "—Susan Farell's condition hasn't changed at all, she's confused about where she is and why she can't leave. Emma Genera is improving in that her facial swelling is going down and that more of her free will is returning, hence her unwillingness to take her potion." Jenna signed the report with a flourish and started off down the hallway.

"That was the Scrimgeour Ward," she said over her shoulder, "for simple jinxes that have gone wrong. Usually not too many of those, unless it's an untrained wizard trying to use them. This here, Malacaster—" she indicated the next doorway "—is for misapplied Transfiguration." She swung open the door and was greeted by a harassed-looking Healer. Hermione, peeking over her shoulder, saw that every bed in the ward was full and that there was a large spill of a corrosive-looking potion on the floor, and winced.

She tagged along behind Jenna for the rest of the day, taking in so many new sights and medical terms that her mind reeled with information. Hermione had been the one to perform the Protean Charm on the folders, after hearing Jenna's confession that she had always been lousy at charmwork and continued to be lousy at it.

"Thank you," Jenna said gratefully as Hermione handed the stack of folders back to her. "You don't know what a relief that was for me—I've got a sort of mental block with charms, don't know why—"

Hermione shrugged.

"Look," said Jenna guiltily, piling the files on her desk and disrupting it's usual orderliness, "I'm awfully sorry I haven't been able to get you anything to work on. I promise I'll have something for you as soon as I can get ahold of it."

"Okay," Hermione replied passively.

Jenna looked as though she were going to say something else, opened her mouth, and then changed her mind. "If you ever need to talk about—anything—I'm a good listener, all right?" she said, looking kinder than Hermione had ever seen her look yet. "I know what you're going through," she said quietly, "and I know that saying that doesn't help anything. So if you want to talk, my door's always open."

Hermione felt her lower lip wobble. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jenna said, smiling. She gave a little wave as Hermione left her office.  
  
- - - - -

As Hermione stepped out of her fireplace and into her living room, the first thing she noticed was an impatient-looking screech owl walking up and down her coffee table accompanied by alarming scritchy noises.

"Oh, stop it," Hermione begged, setting down her purse. "Don't scratch it up, I just polished it."

The owl hooted at her and stuck out its leg, and as soon as the letter had been removed, took off and gracefully soared out the open window. Hermione frowned.

"I didn't leave the window open this morning," she said, confused, and went over to shut it. She looked down at the letter, which had nothing written on the outside except for her name. She opened it and read:

_Miss Granger:_

_On account of your recent mention in our previous issue, _Witch Weekly_ would like to request an interview with you to get "the real story behind the gossip," as our mission statement dictates. Please respond at your earliest convenience, care of Obscurus Books Publishing House, 18a Diagon Alley, __London__. _Witch Weekly_ appreciates your taking time to answer our questions._

_Sincerely,_

_Jennifer Quint, Editor, _Witch Weekly

Hermione stared at the letter, open-mouthed. What nerve, after the magazine had blackened her name and reputation, to ask for an interview. As if she would tell them anything at all now! Her hand was poised over the fire, ready to drop the letter in, when that one genuine-sounding phrase stopped her: "'the real story behind the gossip.'"

Well, if that were really true, she supposed it would be nice for the real story to be made commercially available to all of England. Even if she wasn't credited believable by everyone, she was certain there would be some wizards who would believe her story. Her hand wavered over the flames.

She placed the letter back inside its envelope and set it on the coffee table, looking at it pensively. This would definitely have to be slept on. At the moment, she was in no mood for heavy thought. She forcefully wrenched her mind back from the pathway down which it was not allowed to wander, which ultimately led to a certain blonde-haired wizard whom she had never been able to resist, and went to the kitchen to make her supper, turning the Wizarding Wireless Network up as loud as it would go.

She was passing through the living room much later, in the process of collecting her purse and heading in the direction of bed, when the dying fire suddenly glowed green and spat a bit of parchment out onto the hearthrug. Curious, Hermione picked up the message, and almost toppled over as she recognized the handwriting. Clutching the parchment to her chest, Hermione walked blindly to her room, shut and locked the door behind her, kicked off her heels, and sat on the edge of her bed. Shaking, she finally forced herself to read the message:

_I don't know if you'll accept this, but I want to apologize. I can't say everything I want to on paper—it will come out too bluntly for my liking. I'm all tied up at work for the next two weeks. Can we meet sometime after that? I deeply regret all that happened, and I want to talk about it. When are you available? Do you want to talk? Please reply as soon as possible._

_Draco_

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath. She had been trying to forget about him all day, and now she was stuck with an ultimatum: reply and say yes, and either fix everything up or part in a worse situation; or say no, and kiss him goodbye forever. She didn't know what to think right now. She was tired from staying up all night crying her eyes out, and she was physically exhausted from trotting around after Jenna all over that damned hospital. She was, she suddenly realized, in a very foul mood. She grabbed a quill from the nightstand, and without pausing to think, scribbled her reply on the bottom of the page:

_I really would rather not._

She stood up, headed for the fire, and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder off the mantel. She tossed it into the flames, watched them glow green, and then hesitated. Was it fair of her to do this to him?

Suddenly she didn't care if it was fair or not. She was sick to death of unfairness regarding her job, and didn't particularly care about causing it for other people at the moment. She threw the paper into the fire and whispered, "Malfoy Manor."

Then she crawled into bed and spent a sleepless night soaking her pillow with tears.


	11. More misunderstatndings

Hermione blinked awake the next morning with a pounding headache and a vague sense of foreboding. She shaded her eyes against the weak sunlight that was struggling in through her window and groaned.

"I must be the only person who can wake up feeling like she has a hangover without actually drinking—"

She paused. "Wait a minute." Her mind, which was never at its best early in the morning, was just recalling the shots of firewhisky she had downed before heading to bed. She shuddered. "Hermione, you are an _idiot._"

At that moment her stomach caught up with her headache, and she rushed for the bathroom, barely making it in time to vomit into the toilet bowl. Brushing her teeth afterwards, she glared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She looked like death.

She swished and spat, gave her mirror-self one final look of disapproval, and headed back to her bedroom to perform an Anti-Hangover Charm, a nifty little trick borrowed from Ginny Weasley.

"That explains the headache, at least," she muttered, sinking onto the edge of her bed. "But why do I feel like there's something hanging over me? Ha ha, hanging over," she laughed mirthlessly, "I am so _stupid_ when I wake up. Come on, idiot girl, think. What did you do last night?" She remembered falling fuzzily into bed, the effects of the whiskey finally getting to her. Wait a minute. She had been crying, hadn't she? She had sobbed most of the night until the combination of alcohol and tiredness had caught up to her somewhere around 4 in the morning. And had she gotten up at intervals for a few more mouthfuls of Ogden's?

Dammit. This was why she hardly ever drank. She couldn't imagine what had gotten into her last night.

Oh. Oh wait a minute.

This was more than just her job, wasn't it? Work hadn't been half as bad as usual yesterday, had it?

Oh, _shit._

_I really would rather not._

_Draco._

Oh dammit.

I am _such_ a bitch.

- - -

Hermione sat at her kitchen table, dunking a tea bag up and down in her cup and staring off into space. _This is why I hardly ever drink_, she reminded herself again. _My reasoning goes right out the window and I do things without thinking about them. What am I supposed to do now?_

She glanced down at her very black tea, sighed in disgust, and waved her wand to clear it away. She listlessly dressed, yanked out most of her hair while attempting to brush it, gave up on trying to look even halfway decent, and Flooed off to work.

Hermione made her way slowly down the hallway in a swarm of people, not really seeing anything, not really thinking. She sat down in her cubicle and cast a silencing charm over it, blocking off the chattering of her alien coworkers and giving herself an opportunity to try to think.

"Okay, this is just logic," she told herself firmly. "I made a mistake, and now I have to rectify the mistake. All I have to do is decide how to do that." She magicked a sheet of parchment onto her desk, dipped her quill in her inkpot, and put the end of the feather to her lips, thinking. At the top of the page, she wrote,

'Pros and Cons of Apologizing to He-Who-I-Cannot-Name'

"Pro number one," she muttered to herself, scribbling, "I like him a lot. A lot a lot." She thought for a moment. "Con number one: I'm not very good at apologizing." She continued in this vein for some time, accumulating a massive list, and then, ink-splattered, put down her quill and sighed.

"All I've succeeded in doing is making myself even more confused." She shook her head in frustration. "Why am I so self-destructive to my own social life?"

At that moment, a folded note appeared on her desk with a puff of blue smoke. Hermione unfolded it and read aloud, "Dear Hermione, I'm sorry, I have no work for you today. You may go home if you like."

She let her head fall forward onto her desk with a loud _clunk_. "Why do I even bother?" she asked herself. "If I didn't like to quit things, I would go right back to London. But no, I just can't give up, can I? Stupid, stupid, stupid." She was planning to merely sit in her cubicle and stew all day, but her eye fell on her list of pros and cons.

Going home would merely make the bad memories fresher. But—if she swallowed her pride—she could go to England and try to remedy things. She took a nervous deep breath. Cross-ocean Apparation was very risky, and there were only a very few wizards who, at their apparation tests, were allowed to attempt it. Draco, apparently, had no problem with it. Hermione hadn't done it for years.

"Hopefully it's one of those things you never forget how to do," she whispered, and with a loud _CRACK!,_ she disappeared.

- - -

She reappeared in the lobby of his apartment building. As she stood in the magical lift, she wasn't particularly worried about anything except what she would say to him, and how he would respond. She knew he would be home—he never worked on Mondays, and at ten in the morning, where else would he be? She walked trembling down the hallway to his flat and took out her wand—he had given her his password a while ago. She let herself into the front hallway.

"Draco?" she called nervously, hating the sound of her voice, high and thin, echoing through the rooms. "Draco, are you here?" She walked through the kitchen, into the living room, and stopped dead. Her heart sank down and crashed through the floor.

He was there, all right, sitting in his living room. And there, sitting primly on the white leather across from him as if she owned it, was Pansy Parkinson. They were both staring up at Hermione with horror written plainly across their faces.

"Oh," she forced out, willing the tears not to fall, "I'm so sorry. Is this a bad time? I think I'll leave, then." Her voice cracked, and she turned away quickly, not wanting Draco to see her tears. She stormed back down the hallway, out the door, and to the lifts, where she jammed the button repeatedly, smearing at her cheeks with the other hand. How could he have forgotten about her that quickly? She had only sent the note last night. It hadn't even been twenty four hours, and he had already moved on.

She pummeled the button, glancing over her shoulder frantically to make sure that he wasn't coming, but at the same time, hoping that he would.

He didn't.

- - -

"Pansy, let go of my hand, dammit!" Draco shook her off angrily and tried to rush after Hermione, but Pansy hit him with an Impediment Jinx.

"Draco, Hermione Granger?" she said faintly, sinking back onto the sofa. "When you asked me for advice, I had no idea you were talking about her."

"Well, I was," Draco forced out through immobile lips, "and you had better take this curse off so I can go find her and _explain_. C'mon, Pansy, you're supposed to be my friend. I thought you were _happy_ that I've found someone, I thought you _wanted_ to help get me back together with her—"

"But I didn't know it was _her_," said Pansy vehemently. "Draco, what were you thinking? If your parents knew—"

"My parents are in Azkaban," ground out Draco, "and even if they did know, I wouldn't care. You want to know something? I love her. I. Love. Her. I've been an idiot, and you need to let me _go_ so I can go _tell_ her, because she obviously thinks that I'm seeing _you_ now—"

"Look, Draco, I'm sorry," said Pansy, looking frightened at his anger, "but this goes against everything that I believe in. How you can go gallivanting around with a Mud—"

"Don't you _dare_ call her that," he said between clenched teeth. "Look, Pansy, are you my friend or not? Let me go!"

He didn't know if she had finally relented or if the curse had just worn off, but next thing he knew, he was sprinting after Hermione. He flung himself out into the hallway just in time to see the lift begin descending. He hurled himself at the button and began hitting it frantically. Would she Apparate back to New York straight from the lobby, or try to go somewhere else first? Knowing Hermione, she would probably head straight to one of her favorite London haunts.

"Damn laws," he grunted furiously, jabbing at the button, "I shouldn't have to go all the way down to the lobby just to Apparate, dammit!" He heard a muffled squeak and turned to see one of the neighbors' kids staring at him open-mouthed.

"You said the d-word," the little boy said in a hushed voice, "twice!"

"Ah, damn," Draco said without thinking, "I mean—no, go away—don't tell your mother I—"

The lift arrived and he hurtled into it, jamming the button for the lobby. He felt the elevator descending and let out a long string of curses at its slowness. When it finally arrived, he looked around wildly, didn't see Hermione, and ran over to an old wizard sitting in an armchair.

"Excuse me," he panted, "did you see a woman leave? Short, with curly brown hair, very pretty?"

"Crying?" the old man asked, nodding. "Yup, I seen her. She went running out thataway—" he gestured left "—sobbing something terrible. Here now," he said, looking suspicious, "what did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Draco lied hastily, already running off. "Thank you, sir!" He shouldered his way through a crowd outside the steps and took off down the street, looking out for a glimpse of unruly curls.

If she was going this way, she was probably heading either for the park or for their favorite Muggle coffee shop. Probably the park, he decided, she doesn't like being out in public when she doesn't look perfect and presentable. Mask-like, even. But then he looked dubiously up at the stormy sky. It was spitting raindrops at random intervals, and probably would let loose a deluge any minute now. Nevertheless, he decided to try the park.

He was almost there when he thought he saw a glimpse of her, between a crowd of people, but she was swallowed up among a sea of faces immediately. He shoved through the knot of people at the entrance to the park, apologizing as he did so, and finally emerged into Hermione's haven.

He didn't know why she loved it so much: it was just a standard old park, all grass and trees and flowers with a pond in the middle. But he supposed the seclusion was nice—hardly anyone ever entered it, except for her. He began jogging around the perimeter of the pond, peering around for any sign of her. And then he heard her sobs.

She was sitting on a bench underneath a tree, half-hidden behind an overgrown bush. Her face was hidden in her hands, her shoulders were shaking, and she was completely unaware that he was there.

He cleared his throat. "Mya?"

She started horribly and looked up at him, betrayal written all over her puffy, tear-stained face.

"Go away!" she shrieked hysterically. "If you can forget about me that quickly, then I don't want you here. I hate you!" She buried her face in her hands.

"No, Mya, you don't understand," Draco said, trying to sound gentle. He sat down next to her, and she shrank away from him. "Can I please explain?"

"I don't think you need to," she said shakily, gulping. "I mean, it's pretty obvious what's going on, isn't it? You got sick of me and moved on to—to _her_."

"Maybe that's what it looked like," he said earnestly, "but I swear that isn't what happened, Mya."

She looked at him hard, tears still streaming from her reddened eyes. "Okay," she said finally, "tell me."

He began to explain: how after he had said that they needed a break, he had regretted it terribly; how when they were both in bad moods, they were careless about rubbing the other the wrong way; how hurt he had been at her last note—Hermione began crying again at that—and how he had turned to his childhood friend, Pansy, for love advice.

"And I swear to you by everything I believe in, Mya," he finished, "I wouldn't do that to you. I still want to be with you."

"Oh, Draco," she wailed, but there was a different tone in her voice now. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her as she cried into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "You're right, you've always been right, I'm too judgmental, and I don't think before I say things that might hurt people, and—"

He placed his hand gently over her mouth. "And you slight yourself all the time." He gave her a gentle shake. "Quit it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry about everything."

"Me too."

They sat in silence, steadily growing wetter as the sky opened up and, in Draco's case, as Hermione's tears subsided into his shirt.

"Here, we're both going to get pneumonia," Draco said as her tears gradually became gentle hiccups. "Do you want to come back to my flat? I'm not letting you Apparate like this."

"Will—_she_ be gone?"

"If she isn't, I'll kick her out," Draco promised.

Hermione managed a small smile. "Thank you."

"No problem," Draco replied, meaning it. He stood up and helped her to her feet, feeling the familiar fizzle running through him as their hands met. Amazing how, after knowing her for so long, it still felt the same as the first time their hands had clasped.

"C'mon," he said and, still holding hands, they walked back through the rain.


	12. Finally doing something

"I can't believe you swore in front of an eight-year old," Hermione scolded, trying not to laugh and failing. She pulled the fleecy blanket tighter around herself and took a sip of tea from the large mug.

Draco shrugged. "I bet he forgot about it in half a minute." The situation was definitely looking up. Pansy had been shooed away, Hermione had been settled on the sofa with a Warming Charm, and he had gotten her to laugh again. "At least," he said, trying to sound optimistic, "it was him and not his sister."

"What's wrong with his sister?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Nosiest little twit I've ever met," Draco grimaced. "She's starting at Hogwarts next year. She'd have run to her parents in a moment."

Hermione took another sip. "Well, the boy won't exactly forget any time in the near future. Three times?" She let out a giggle. "I can't believe you."

"I wasn't thinking clearly," Draco said, trying to absolve himself. "I wanted to find you."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "I really am sorry."

"I know," Draco said quietly. "Me too. Here, I think we've covered all the apologizing. Lets do something fun."

"Like what?"

"Well," Draco looked at the clock, considering. "When do you have to get back?"

"I don't know," Hermione sighed. "Tomorrow morning, I guess."

"But you have today off?"

"Yes," Hermione said, after a barely-noticeable pause. Draco, however, had sharp eyes.

"What?"

"I—nothing." She stared down into her mug.

"Mya?"

"What?"

Draco leaned across the coffee table, took her hand, and began rubbing the knuckles. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about work?"

Hermione opened her mouth but nothing came out. She closed it again, hesitated, and then the whole story poured out unbidden: how there was no organization whatsoever at the hospital; how she couldn't even find her way around; how she had nothing to do—

"—and now I don't know what to do," she told him honestly, "because I feel like if I quit that I'll be giving up, and I'll have wasted all the sacrifices I made to get there in the first place. And now there's all this gossip and rumors going around, and Harry and Ron hate me, and I—I just don't know what to do." She looked up at him. "What should I do, Draco?"

"Oh." He heaved a huge sigh and stared down at their clasped hands. "I don't know what to tell you, Mya."

"Anything?" she said hopefully. As he looked blanker, she tried another tack: "What if it were you?"

"If it were me," he said quietly. "Hmm." He thought a minute. "I would go talk to Jerome again, and explain exactly what my position was supposed to be, and say that I really felt useless where I was because my credentials weren't right for it." Hermione set down her mug and stared at him, sensing that more would come.

"And," he continued, shutting his eyes as if visualizing, "I would talk to Jenna. I would say that I know it isn't her fault that I'm stuck in her department, but that I really feel useless and I need something to do, even if it's just something like filing."

"But I'm bad at confronting people," Hermione whined, giving him puppy-dog eyes.

"Well, I'm not going to do it for you," he said firmly. "Oh—come on, don't look at me like that." Her lower lip slid out in an exaggerated pout. "No, stop it, you know I can't take that face," he begged. "C'mon, Mya, you know that I can't go in there for you. It'll make you look weak."

A tear trickled down Hermione's cheek and she let out a little whimper.

"Aagh," Draco said, looking anywhere but at her face, "stop it. Mya! How do you _do_ that? Look, I am _not_ going there. End of discussion." He crossed his arms and sat back, staring resolutely back at her. After about ten seconds, he let out an irritable exclamation, hurled himself bodily across the coffee table at her, and began poking her in the side.

"Oh, no, stop it," Hermione gasped as he began tickling her in earnest. "Not fair, not fair. Ooh, ha ha, stop, Draco!" She squealed, seized a pillow, and whacked him over the head with it. He retaliated with a fresh tickle attack.

A few minutes later, sweaty and disheveled, they called a cease-fire and looked at each other, breathing hard.

"I'm feeling a bit of déjà vu," said Hermione breathlessly. "Didn't we do this back before I left?"

Draco appeared to ponder this, scratching his chin. "Hmm . . . yes, I believe so, Miss Granger." His lips curved in an mischievous smile. "Would you care to know why I remember?"

"I don't know," Hermione said warily. "Why do you remember?"

"Because," he replied with a self-satisfied look, "the shirt you were wearing was huge on you. I could see down it the _whole time_." He grinned smugly as Hermione's jaw dropped and she mouthed wordlessly at him.

"You bigoted, chauvinistic _pig_!" she got out finally, smacking him in the face with the pillow. "I don't believe you, I really don't, I—mmm," she sighed as he pressed his lips firmly against hers.

They pulled apart for air minutes later, and Hermione smiled up at him. "You sure know how to shut me up."

- - -

"I don't want to go back."

"You've got to go back."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Ye—oh, this is ridiculous," Draco expostulated. "Just go."

"I can't." Hermione clung to him.

"If you don't go now," he said patiently, "you'll get too tired to be able to Apparate at all. I'm letting you do this against my better judgement as it is. Plus, you need to fix your job, remember? You like challenges. This is just another challenge."

"Okay," Hermione said reluctantly. "I guess you're right." She released him, but quickly grabbed on again. "Can I come back tomorrow evening?"

"No," Draco said firmly, but upon her look of pleading he wavered. "Well—how about I go to your place instead."

"Okay," Hermione agreed happily. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." She shut her eyes, preparing to Apparate. Draco was staring at her with a content sort of look on his face when her eyes suddenly snapped open.

"Draco?"

"What?" he asked, concerned. "Is something wrong? Are you too tired? I don't want you to splinch yourself or—"

"Draco."

"What?"

Hermione stepped forward shyly and, taking his hands, put his arms around her body. She snuggled against him and sighed as he squeezed gently.

"I love you," she whispered into his shoulder. He pulled back suddenly and stared at her.

"What?" she asked, looking worried.

"Oh, Mya," he whispered, beginning to laugh. "I love you too."

Their lips met in a crushing kiss, heady and searing.

"Mm," Draco protested as Hermione undid the top button of his shirt. He pulled away from her, breathing heavily. "You have to go. It's really late."

"But I don't _want_ to go," Hermione said, pouting attractively. "And I don't think you want me to go, either." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

He groaned. "No, I don't want you to go, but you _have_ to." She stuck out her lower lip. "_Don't_ do that. Go. Now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Fine," she gave in, backing away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye."

"Bye."

She disappeared.

- - -

"So you see, Mr. Hutchins," Hermione finished nervously, wringing her hands, "I've been feeling useless ever since I started working here. I think it's wasteful to the hospital to have me working in Spell Damage. I would like to have the job that I applied for, please."

"Well, Hermione," Jerome said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach, "I see where you're coming from."

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "the reason there was an opening in the Research department was because one of the workers was on maternity leave, and we weren't sure if she'd return. She decided to come back recently . . . so you see, that job really isn't available anymore."

Hermione gaped at him, open-mouthed. "But—I—what—"

"So," Jerome continued, lighting a cigar, "either you stay in Spell Damage, or I'm going to have to let you go."

Hermione didn't know what to say.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, puffing away.

"Can I have some time to think about it?" Hermione asked, coughing as the smoke wafted towards her.

Jerome shrugged. "Get back to me by the end of the day. Like you said, it's wasteful to the hospital to have you working in Spell Damage. Tell me what you think. Good day."

Hermione's mouth dropped, and she began protesting at the unfairness of it all, but Jerome merely waved a fleshy hand at her, shooing her away as if she were a fly. Hermione stormed out and slammed the door behind herself. She leaned against the wall, gripping handfuls of her hair and staring up at the ceiling.

"What should I do?" she muttered to herself. "Can I really just quit? Would it look like I was giving up?" She was preparing to go back upstairs to Jenna's office and beg for a real job when the unfairness of the situation hit her again.

"If there's one thing I can't stand," she told herself, standing upright, "it's injustice." Ever since the days of S.P.E.W., she had prided herself on her sense of morality and how she wouldn't let people walk all over her. And what had she been doing ever since she had arrived in New York? Her blood boiling, she marched right back into Jerome's office.

"Okay," she said heatedly, slamming the door, "you want to know what I think? I think this is the most dysfunctional, unorganized, incompetent workplace I have seen in my life. No, you wait a minute," she said as he opened his mouth to talk. "You asked for my opinion, and I'm going to give it to you.

"On the first day, I was shocked when you told me what I was going to have to do. But I thought, okay, well, he says I can get into it as soon as possible, so everything will be fine." She gave a short laugh. "Everything has _not_ been fine. I have spent the past two weeks doing absolutely nothing.

"Let me tell you something, Jerome," she said, planting her hands on the edge of his desk. "I didn't come all the way from London to do nothing. So I'm finally going to do something: the first useful thing I'm actually doing in this place, ironically."

She stared straight at his shocked face, took a deep breath, and declared, "I quit."

Then she turned on her polished heel and marched out.

- - -


	13. Awkward conversations

When Draco arrived at Hermione's flat at six o'clock that evening, he was more than a little surprised to see her sitting on the floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes and wadded-up tissues.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, sinking next to her and wrapping his arms around her. "What happened? Did they fire you?"

"No," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I quit."

Draco stared at her, bewildered. "You—quit? But—that's great, Mya! You've been miserable the whole time here—this'll be so much better for you." He paused. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I gave up!" she wailed. "I've never given up at anything in my entire life! I've stuck to things, and they've always worked out in the end. But not now! No, now that I'm twenty-three years old, I'm having a mid-life crisis. I was having the best time of my life—in love, with a prestigious job—and I go and _quit_!"

He stared at her in amazement. "But you weren't happy, Mya," he reminded her. "The prestigious job was doing nothing. Why does it matter so much that you have the best job possible? Isn't it better to have a fulfilling life doing something you love, rather than one that's useless?"

She hiccupped miserably.

"Look," Draco said, trying to sound encouraging, "don't think of it as giving up. Think of it as trying to right a wrong."

"But—"

"Obviously by now you realize that it was a mistake to come here in the first place."

"I—well, I suppose so, but—"

"So now all you have to do it fix it."

"But I'm not good at fixing mistakes," she sniffled. "And anyways, what am I supposed to do now? Go back to London? Become a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Well," Draco said, choosing his words carefully, "you could come back to London and get a real job at St. Mungo's, and fix things with Harry and Ron."

Hermione gave a watery laugh. "Mungo's won't hire me. I just quit a job that I've had for two weeks, remember? Besides, you know how hard it is to get a flat at this time of year. I'm going to end up a homeless wreck." She smeared at her cheeks.

"They'll hire you," Draco said confidently, "don't worry. By the time the news gets out that you're back in London, you'll have places queuing up to hire you. And," he took a deep breath, "you could move in with me. If you want to."

Hermione stared at him.

"It was just an idea," he said hurriedly, "if you don't want to, I understand, don't feel pressured to or anything—"

"I'd love to."

"What? You—you'd—" He stared at her in amazement. "Really?"

Hermione smiled, the first genuine smile he'd seen since he arrived. "I'd love to move in with you," she repeated.

"You're not just saying that?"

Hermione threw her arms around him as a response and sighed contentedly. "I love you."

Draco had a blissful sort of unbelieving expression on his face. "I love you, too."

-           -           -

"Hurry up, we're going to be late."

"I'm coming, I'm coming—oh shit, we're going to miss it."

"No we won't, not if we—"

"We can't Apparate there, I've told you! There's no place safe to come out!"

"How about in the—"

"_Not_ in the toilets, I've said it's not safe enough to—"

"We're going to be late!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Do you have the—"

"Yes."

"And the—"

"_Yes_."

Hermione stopped short and fixed Draco with a beady stare. "Are you positive we've got everything?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, "I did a Locating Charm, now we're going to be late!"

"I'm coming!"

They caught a cab to the airport, preferring Muggle transportation over a dubious-looking wizard chauffer who accosted them as they exited the apartment building. Draco stewed quietly the whole way there, apparently still miffed over the fact that Hermione had forgotten to set the alarm clock, they had woken up two hours later than planned, and hadn't had time to eat anything.

"We can get something to eat at the airport," Hermione offered timidly. He merely grunted in response, and Hermione gave up trying to pacify him. He kept glancing pointedly at his watch, and she chose to ignore him.

"We have half an hour until the plane leaves," he announced gruffly as the taxi pulled up to the airport. He seized the bags while Hermione paid the driver, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the counter.

By the time they made it to the gate, all the other passengers had already boarded.

"At least we made it," Hermione panted as she followed Draco down the aisle, looking around for their seats. He grunted again, and forcibly gave her the window seat.

"Draco?" Hermione said hesitantly. "I'm sorry I forgot to set the alarm."

He shrugged. "I guess as long as we made it, it doesn't matter."

"Good," she said in relief. "Are we going to have as bad of a trip as we did on the way here?"

"I hope not."

"Me too."

Luckily it was overcast, and seeing nothing but gray outside the window made Draco a good deal happier than he had been all morning. They spent a pleasant trip chatting, laughing over the Muggle magazines Hermione had bought, and, in Draco's case, napping.

Hermione was far too excited to think of sleeping. She was going back home—and she was going to live with Draco. She smiled happily to herself, thinking of sun-drenched mornings with breakfast in bed, cooking together (or rather, Draco cooking for her—she had never been much in the kitchen), and being able to see him whenever she wanted. It was going to be wonderful.

Her mind drifted to the thought of Harry and Ron, and she squeezed her eyes shut in apprehension. She had already decided to go and see them as soon as they arrived in London, to tell them what was going on before the gossip columns got wind. It was not going to be a fun experience.

-           -           -

"Here we are," Draco announced, stepping through the door, flicking his wand to light the lamps, and dropping his bags heavily on the floor. "Home sweet home."

Hermione followed him in somewhat shyly. "I like the sound of that." She couldn't keep herself from looking around at everything, even though she had been there a million times before. But now it was hers, too.

"I guess we should wait for things like decorating until you get unpacked and settled in," Draco said.

"Mm," Hermione agreed, shrugging out of her sweatshirt. Like the gentleman he was, Draco took it from her and hung it up in the closet. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," he said easily. "Do you want anything? Water? Tea?"

Hermione shook her head. "I should go talk to Ron and Harry now, first thing."

He sighed. "Yeah, you probably should. You okay?"

Hermione nodded. He gave her an encouraging sort of look. "Go get 'em."

She gave a half-hearted smile, took a pinch of Floo powder, and stepped into the green flames.

_They've redecorated_, Hermione observed, stepping out of the fireplace into their living room. Instead of the stereotypical cluttered bachelor's pad it had been, the room now looked tasteful and neat. Just as Hermione was wondering what could have possibly made their masculine minds decide to clean up, the reason for the new decorations stepped around the corner and froze upon seeing Hermione.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked bluntly, sizing up the girl. She was tall and willowy with long, cascading auburn hair, and large, piercing blue eyes that were narrowed in confusion. She was beautiful and sophisticated and everything that Hermione was not.

"I'm Megara," she replied, crossing her arms, "and I think that I should be the one asking who _you_ are."

Hermione racked her mind. _Megara__, __Megara_. Ah. Harry's girlfriend. The corners of her mouth quirked as she recalled the occasion upon which she had learned of Megara's existence.

"Are Harry and Ron here?" Hermione asked, taking a step forward. Megara moved quickly to block her path, with a kind of grace that Hermione could only dream of.

"No, they're at Quidditch," Megara said, looking Hermione up and down with a bit of a sneer. "I'll tell them you dropped by—who are you, anyways?"

_They must really be furious with me_, Hermione realized, _if Harry's girlfriend doesn't even know who I am._ Her heart sank.

"Um, I'm just a friend," she said, trying to sound nonchalant underneath Megara's condescending gaze. "I'll come back later, it's no problem."

"They'll probably be back in half an hour or so," Megara informed her. "I guess you can just wait in here if you want." She indicated the couch with a casual sweep of a slender, manicured hand.

"Um, all right." Hermione perched carefully on the edge of the couch. "Thank you."

"No problem," Megara said shortly. She spun on her stilettos, marched back into the kitchen, and began making clattering noises with pots and pans. Hermione gazed around the living room. It really hadn't changed that much, she realized. It just looked so different without spare pairs of robes, crumb-strewn plates, and various Quidditch paraphernalia cluttering up every available surface. She picked up a photograph of Harry and Megara and examined it. _She looks like Ginny_, Hermione thought, envying those select few women who could do something as unsophisticated as, say, compost a garden, and yet look stunning while doing so.

The irritated clicking of heels announced Megara's return.

"Will you at least tell me who you are?" she demanded, planting oven mitt-encased fists on her slender hips. "I would rather not be in there wondering if I've let a dormant Death Eater into the flat."

Hermione sighed. "My name is Hermione. I'm a friend of Ron and Harry's, from school."

The redhead's mouth dropped. "Hermione _Granger_?"

"Yes."

"I've read _all_ about you in the paper." Megara's crimson lips curved in an unfriendly smile. "So nice to have you back in London. I sincerely hope that you aren't here to try to ensnare them again."

"What?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about." Megara's face was confidently condescending. "After they've finally gotten rid of you, too. Just please try not to get Harry too angry. We're going out tonight."

Hermione was sure that her jaw was touching the floor. "What are you _talking_ about? That's just gossip. They haven't—they aren't—"

Megara sniffed in satisfaction. "Obviously you really aren't close anymore."

Hermione shot to her feet, completely fed up. "Listen, I only—"

"Hermione!" Ron's shocked exclamation echoed through the room. Hermione whirled around to see her best friends staring at her as if she were a ghost.

"Hello, Harry." Megara's voice was suddenly breathy and simpering, and she was hurriedly hiding the oven mitts behind her back. "Did you have a good—"

"Er, Meg, do you mind?" Harry's eyes were still fixed on Hermione, who was about as shocked at their sudden arrival as they were at her being in their flat. "I think we need to talk with Hermione."

Megara deflated visibly. She stomped back into the kitchen, slammed the door behind her, and resumed her clanking with the pots.

"Hello," Hermione said nervously. "Er—how've you been?"

"All right," Harry said, a bit awkwardly.

Ron shrugged. "Not bad." He was still staring at Hermione as if unsure of her existence.

"Er—sit down," Harry offered. Hermione complied, sitting back down on the edge of the couch as Harry and Ron took armchairs across from her.

"So," Ron said after a brief, awkward pause. "Why are you here?"

"To apologize," Hermione said with a long exhalation. "And to explain."

They nodded in unison. Hermione was tempted to laugh, but had a strong feeling that it would undermine any credibility she had at the moment. She began talking, starting with her reasoning for leaving in the first place, assuring them that her decision was completely unrelated to her feelings for them; trying to make them understand what she had felt, what she had said wrong, what she had meant to tell them but hadn't managed to.

They were silent when she finished.

"Forgive me?" Hermione asked nervously.

They looked at each other with unreadable expressions.

"What about Malfoy?" Harry said eventually. "You left him out. How long have you been friends with him?"

"Since university," Hermione said. "He's different, he really is. He's a wonderful person. It just takes time to get him to open up, but underneath that mask he wears all the time—" She did her best impression of Draco's trademark sneer, and was rewarded with chuckles "—he's amazing. It's just—he grew up with a lot of prejudice, and it's hard for him to get over it," she tried to explain. "He's—changed, somehow."

Harry shrugged, looking at Ron. "What d'you think?"

Ron looked down at the floor, appearing to be pondering. "I suppose it isn't really up to us who you're friends with," he said, although it was with a great effort. "I mean, you're all grown up now, aren't you?" He cracked a grin, meeting her eyes again. "Harry and I shouldn't try to control you for the rest of your life," he said, almost as if to himself, in a moment of very un-Ronlike wisdom.

Hermione teared up. "Oh, Ron," she managed, smearing underneath her eyes, "thank you so much. They're happy tears, I promise," she said quickly, seeing the concerned look on his face. "Oh, I love both of you so much." She flung herself at each of them in turn for hugs of reconciliation.

"So," Harry said, breaking the awkward silence that ensued after Hermione returned to her seat, "where do you live now? Are you back for good?"

"Well," Hermione said slowly, dreading the inevitable, "I'm actually moving in with Draco."

Their mouths dropped simultaneously.

"What?!" Ron demanded.

"You're living with _Malfoy_?" Harry said incredulously.

"We've been dating," Hermione said hurriedly, trying to explain, "well, I suppose you can call it dating, I'm not sure exactly—but we've been kind of skirting around it ever since university, I think, and we finally decided to do something about it . . . oh, come on, stop it, you just accepted that we were friends, this is the same thing, just—bigger."

"It's kind of hard," Harry said through gritted teeth, "to accept the fact that one's best friend is going home every night to shag one's former archenemy."

Ron made a disgusted noise.

"But we aren't shagging," Hermione blurted out, then clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh Merlin . . . I cannot believe that I am having this conversation with you."

They were both gaping at her.

"Okay," Hermione said, burying her face in her hands, "as wrong as it is to talk about this with you, Draco and I have not shagged. I don't think we're planning to any time soon. So you don't have to worry about that."

"But—but why?" Ron asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said, turning crimson. "Our relationship isn't really about physicality. It's—deeper, I guess. We don't need to be shagging to be in love."

They exchanged dubious looks.

"Please," Hermione said, her face turning redder, "can you forget about him as 'Malfoy' and think of him as a person? He's different. He isn't like you used to know him."

"I think," Harry said eventually, looking at Ron as if for confirmation, "the four of us should go out for dinner tonight and talk."

Hermione's mouth dropped and she stared hopelessly at their unrelenting faces.

"Oh, bloody hell," she said finally, throwing up her hands. "Fine."

-           -           -

And that's all you're getting for the next three weeks, because I am going on vacation. :-) Just promise not to forget about the story while I'm away, please.

A couple of comments to reviewers (I try not to get in the habit of doing this, but sometimes I'll get a really nice review beyond the standard "it's good!" or whatever that I feel need responses):

**kirise**: Yes, that would be ironic, but she kind of exploded at her boss, so I don't think they're going to be rehiring her any time soon. :-) Plus, now that I've finally written her out of there, I'm not going to stick her back in. There's only so much you can write when she's doing basically nothing from 9 to 5 every day. Thanks for reading!

**foxxglove**: Really? You thought she was soft around him? I was kind of trying to make her a little more subdued than usual, because they just made up, and she doesn't want to say anything to get them in another argument. I didn't want her to seem soft though. Hmm. Are you talking about the part right before she leaves? Well, I think that the way she's acting is kind of how I would act if I was leaving the guy I loved to go to a place I hated to quit my job. Soft, though. That's not supposed to happen. Um . . . could you try to explain a little more what you mean and where it's happening? You can email me if you want. Thanks for saying something, though, I honestly like it if people find something wrong and tell me. Because if the wrong message is coming across, I need to know that. Thank you. 

**beachLEMON****: **I love you. :-)

**snow-angel222**: Hermione tends to be perfectionistic by nature, so she doesn't like to quit or give up. She has the mindset that if she tries hard enough, she can do whatever she wants, so now she's discovering that she really can't, and it's a big deal for her. She's a little overemotional right now. That's where Draco comes in. evil grin

Thank you everyone! Hugs to all!

-fallenpetal


	14. Screaming Banshee's

"Absolutely not!" Draco exploded, slamming his glass down on the table so hard that it shattered.

"But I already said we would go," Hermione whined, pulling out her wand. "_Reparo_" The glass shards melded back together. "Please, Draco? They just want to talk."

"No."

"But I want them to get to know you," Hermione pleaded. "It'll only be a couple of hours. I promise it won't be bad."

"I will not," he said flatly.

Hermione folded her hands beneath her chin and gave him puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"No."

"For me?"

He glared at her, but didn't refuse again. She sensed victory.

"You don't have to like them," she told him, feeling as though she were talking to a five-year old. "Just pretend. I promise it won't be bad at all."

He was silent for a moment. "You want me to go pretend to have a pleasant dinner with the people who have been making your life hell for the past couple of weeks? And, while we're at it, helped make _my _life hell for seven years at school? And you expect me _not_ to kill them?"

"Yes," said Hermione in a very small voice.

He let out a huge sigh and threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine! But I'm bringing my wand."

- - -

"Draco, I can't get the zipper up all the way," Hermione called petulantly from the bathroom, struggling with her dress.

"I'm coming, I'm—" Draco stepped through the bathroom door and froze, staring at her.

"What?" asked Hermione worriedly. "Does it look bad? Should I wear something else?" She examined her reflection nervously, smoothing the black silk over her hips. "It's bunching, isn't it?"

"You look—stunning," Draco croaked, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Thank you." Hermione flushed in pleasure. "Er . . . the zipper . . ."

"Oh. Right." He moved towards her slowly, eyes still fixated on her. His fingers fluttered over her skin as he reached for the zipper and carefully fastened it, causing goosebumps to pop up on her bare arms. "It's new, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione said, distracted by the fact that his fingertips were still lightly resting on her back. "Well, no. I just haven't worn it before." She fastened a diamond teardrop to her earlobe. "So it looks okay, then?"

"Mm." She assumed that was agreement, and reached for the other earring. He buried his face in her neck and exhaled. "You smell nice."

"You do too." Hermione giggled as he planted a trail of kisses down her neck and across her bare shoulder. "That tickles."

"You just happen to be too ticklish for your own good," he said vaguely, extending her arm and continuing his kisses down the sensitive underside of her arm. Hermione watched his reflection in the mirror in fascination as he placed a final kiss in the middle of her palm, folded her fingers over it, and straightened up.

"Don't stop," she said softly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Ever since he had begun staring at her, she'd felt a sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She felt—powerful. Untouchable. Totally in control. Warmth was spreading over her body. Maybe it had something to do with the sensual feeling of the black silk across her skin, or the strappy stilettos, or the new perfume. But she was certain that it was mostly due to Draco's eyes on her, watching her like a hawk, taking her in and liking what he saw.

She supposed that this was what feeling sexy was like.

She liked it.

"I never told you," she said suddenly, turning to face him, "you look stunning, too." She had always liked men in suits, and Draco owned a few particularly nice ones. She ran her fingertips lightly over the lapel.

"We'll make quite a pair, then," he said softly, cracking a smile.

"All the ladies will look at you and faint," Hermione joked. "And then, once they've revived, they'll look at me and say, what's a man like that doing with something like her?"

"Mya." His eyes were admonishing. "No slighting yourself. Especially not when you look like this."

"Like what?"

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "You make me want to rip off that dress, as lovely as it is on you." He wiggled his eyebrows diabolically. Hermione's mouth dropped and she turned crimson.

"Um . . . thank you?" She was unsure of how to respond, and decided to try seductive flirt. "But I'm afraid I'm not going to allow that sort of talk, Mr. Malfoy. Especially around my friends. And especially if you want any chance of getting the dress off later." She raised one eyebrow, a trick she'd learned from him, imitating his suggestiveness.

He swallowed hard. "Where in Merlin's name did you learn how to do that?"

"Oh, I just have a good teacher," she replied innocently, leaning across him to snatch her handbag from the counter. "You." She winked at him, spun around, and left the bathroom, a very dazed Draco trailing behind.

"Do you have the directions?" she asked, taking down the jar of Floo powder from the mantle.

Draco dug around in his pockets and produced a slip of parchment with a grate number scrawled on it. "Have you been here before?"

"No, it just opened," Hermione explained, memorizing the address. "Supposedly it's the new hot spot in Diagon Alley for wizards around our age. Especially the anti-traditional robes set." She shrugged, tossed the powder into the fireplace, stepped into the flames, and said clearly, "One-oh-two Diagon Alley."

She stepped out into the most extravagantly proportioned entranceway she had ever been in. The ceiling was literally dripping with crystal chandeliers, the wallpaper was patterned with gold, and the marble beneath her feet was so smooth and polished that she could see her reflection in it.

"Wow," Draco said, appearing at her side and gazing around. "They're paying, right? I should have gone into Quidditch."

Hermione snorted. "You? Heir to the largest estate in wizarding England? Owner of every top-of-the-line broomstick ever created? Spender of Galleons as if they were peanuts?"

"That's Lucius's money," he said shortly, and stepped forward to talk to the maître d'. Hermione marveled, not for the first time, at the change in him: just a few years ago, he would have nodded proudly at hearing his assets. Now he wanted nothing to do with the money or with the estates. She was so proud of him.

He turned and beckoned for her, and the maître d' lead them into the restaurant, full of circular tables with elegant settings and intimate lighting, and sophisticated young wizards chatting and dining. Draco casually reached out and took Hermione by the elbow, pulling her closer to him—even she could pick up on the "she's taken" vibes that he was transmitting.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron stood up as she reached their table and subjected her to slightly awkward hugs. "How are you?" Harry added, making an effort to sound relaxed, although he was clearly strained by Draco's looming presence.

"Fine," Hermione said, looking between her best friends and Draco nervously. "Er—Harry and Ron, this is Draco, Draco, Harry and Ron—you all know each other." She plastered a cheerful smile on her face as Harry and Ron took turns shaking hands with Draco, who was still projecting "she's mine" at them.

"Erm—have you ordered yet?" Hermione asked, picking up her menu.

"No," they said simultaneously. Hermione opened her menu, realized that it was all in French, and leaned over to whisper in Draco's ear, "Order for me, please."

He gave her a bemused look, opened his own menu, and suddenly a knowing grin spread across his face. "Certainement," he replied smoothly. Even someone with a very limited grasp of French could understand that, so Hermione settled back in her seat, relieved.

Ron turned to Draco and said something in a very bad French accent. Draco gave a short laugh, and rattled off something so quickly that Hermione couldn't have repeated a single syllable. Ron shrugged.

"I was in France for Quidditch for awhile," he said. "Didn't learn much, but it's enough to get by in most places."

"You'll want to practice your accent, though," Draco said, so politely that only Hermione noticed his gritted teeth.

Ron seemed unsure of whether to be offended or satisfied, and settled with looking blank. "Er—I will."

"That's not his insult face," Hermione told him, a smile playing around her lips. "You don't have to be frightened of him, I promise." Draco gave an unconvincing grin.

Luckily, the waiter arrived at that moment with the wine, rescuing the doomed conversation. Hermione found quickly that, as much as all three of them tried to deny it, the men actually had a fair amount in common. She laughed along with Draco as Ron, supplemented with interjections from Harry, recounted a tale from Quidditch practice. She added details to Draco's story of a college professor who had almost given him a failing grade. She smiled inwardly as Draco gave Harry some very blunt tips for dealing with Megara, who had, in Harry's words, become "unbelievably clingy and aggressive."

By the time the entrée arrived, Hermione was gloating. She had guessed that a type of male bonding would take place once they were all outside their comfort zones, with their traditional rivalry out of the way. She squeezed Draco's knee under the table, excused herself, and made her way to the ladies' room.

She was naturally surprised upon returning to discover all three of them picking silently at their meals with a vengeance. "Is anything wrong?" she asked cautiously, settling into her seat.

"They want to go out to a club," Draco said shortly, stabbing at his food.

"What's wrong with that?" Hermione said, surprised. "I think it would be fun."

He looked up at her. "You do?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I do."

"There's a great place a few doors down," Harry said eagerly, "Screaming Banshee's. The whole team goes there after practices sometimes."

"Yeah," Ron agreed eloquently, forking in his food.

"Please, Draco?" Hermione clasped his hand. "It'll be so much fun."

"Fine." He sounded about as thrilled as if they were planning to visit a torture chamber.

"Good," Hermione said, refusing to be daunted. So what if he didn't like to dance? She would just have to make sure that he had a great time.

- - -

It seemed like all the same inhabitants of the restaurant had continued on to the club with them: the place was packed with young witches and wizards in evening wear. Except for the elegant dress code, Screaming Banshee's was almost exactly like a Muggle club that Hermione had visited with her cousin: dimly lit except for multicolored strobe lights, crowded with sweaty people, and stiflingly hot. The only difference was that the eardrum-splitting music consisted mainly of the Top Fifty hits on the Wizard Wireless Network instead of the Billboard Top 100. Draco looked a bit disconcerted.

"Haven't you been to a club before?" Hermione shouted in his ear.

"No," he said, looking around uneasily.

"It'll be fun, I promise," she assured him. "Let's go dance."

"No."

"Why not?" she whined.

"I don't dance."

"Draco. . . ."

"Hermione." Harry was suddenly at her elbow. "Do you want to meet up again outside around midnight? It'll be impossible to keep track of each other in here."

"Sounds good to me," Hermione agreed. Harry made a beeline to join Ron at the bar, where they had apparently been recognized as Quidditch players, and were surrounded by a large group of young witches.

"So much for Megara," Hermione told Draco, who stood like a statue, arms folded across his chest. "Draco, you're being stupid. You can't just stand there all night."

"Watch me," he retorted, giving her an icy glare.

"Let's just go get something to drink," she implored. "Please? You're ruining my evening." She put on her most downcast face.

"Fine." He gave in immediately. Hermione smiled inwardly in triumph, and marched over to the bar.

"Butterbeer with a shot of firewhiskey on the rocks," she told the bartender smoothly, who nodded and reached for a glass. She raised a questioning eyebrow at Draco, who looked a bit taken aback at her effortlessness. "Something wrong?"

"No," he said shortly as the bartender returned with Hermione's drink, and ordered a dry martini.

"You're boring," she told him, sipping at her drink.

"I have class," he corrected. "I don't like how familiar you are with all this."

"Too bad," she retorted, and took another hefty swallow.

"Mya—"

"Look, Draco, leave me alone. It's not like I have a drinking problem or anything, okay?"

He shook his head wordlessly, drained his glass, and ordered a second. Hermione stared at him.

"After _that_ little display," she said heatedly, "you have no right to admonish _me_ about drinking."

They sat at the bar in an uncomfortable silence that was only broken by sipping and occasional meaningful sighs (on Hermione's part, as she surveyed the dance floor).

"Are we going to just sit here all night?" she asked eventually, setting her glass down on the bar.

"Yes," he said stoically, not meeting her eyes.

"Draco, this is stupid," she exploded. "We came out for dinner, you had a good time, and now you're ruining it all just because you don't want to dance! You're ruining my night! Look at Harry and Ron." She placed her palms on either side of his face and turned it out towards the dance floor, where her friends were surrounded by a large group of "fans". "See? They're having a good time. Dancing is fun, I promise! Please, will you come?" She stood up and held out her hand.

"Look, I don't want to ruin your evening," he said uncomfortably.

"Then come and dance with me!"

"I can't dance," he said curtly, and polished off his third martini.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You can't—you're kidding me. We've had balls at Hogwarts! Of course you can dance!"

"I never did except for slow dances, and it was usually with Pansy, and she always steered." He sounded as if it were painful to drag up that memory. "I don't know how to do that—" he gestured at the crowd of people.

Hermione was now trying very hard not to laugh. She arranged her face into a carefully blank expression and said, "Well, I'll have to teach you, then. It's not hard. You just kind of—move around."

He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. Hermione raised hers right back.

"Come on." She grabbed his hand and dragged him out onto the floor with her. "Look," she said over her shoulder as she led him over to a sparsely populated corner, "there's no one over here. You don't have to worry about people watching you."

"It's you watching me I'm worried about," he muttered, and she giggled.

"Yes, but I'm different," she told him. "I've seen you with bed head and morning breath. Don't worry about looking stupid in front of me, of all people." She grinned, and, for the first time since the club idea had been suggested, he smiled back.

"Okay . . . what do I do exactly?"

"Just watch the people around us," she told him. "It's really not hard. You just kind of move to the music." And she began to demonstrate.

"You're not dancing," she scolded him.

His mouth was slightly open as he watched her. "I'm kind of busy at the moment. . . ."

Hermione blushed. "Stop staring at me."

"No."

She stopped moving and planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not doing anything more until you stop drooling."

"I'm not _drooling_," he said huffily.

"You're as good as," Hermione argued. "Now if you don't start dancing in ten seconds, I'm going to find a hotel to stay the night."

His jaw dropped. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? You want to find out?" she challenged him, crossing her arms. "Go on. Stand there like you've been doing. Go back home all by yourself."

He snorted, and proceeded to perform a maneuver Hermione had only seen in Muggle movies, that made her jaw drop and almost made her start drooling: he whipped off his suit jacket, tossed it onto one of the bar stools, and seized her hips and pulled her firmly against him.

"What are you . . . I thought you. . . ." She could barely form words to express her surprise. "You lied to me?"

He snorted again. "I didn't want to give them—" he inclined his head towards Harry and Ron "—the impression that I would enjoy anything they suggested." He shook his head in disbelief. "You believed me? You seriously thought that I, Draco Malfoy, brought up like a spoiled prince, couldn't dance?"

He spun her around into a deep backbend, bent close, and whispered, "Think again."

That was the last thing he said to her for the next hour and a half, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. He was like a supreme compilation of all the steamy dance scenes she had ever seen in movies or on TV, elegant and refined and sweaty and sexy and _hot_, all rolled into one gorgeous package. She felt, rather than saw, the attention of all the others—she and Draco had eyes only for each other. He made her feel powerful. He made her feel like the most amazing dancer ever to walk the face of the earth. His compelling gray eyes never left her, taking in the loose curls tumbling down from her updo, her silk-draped body, finally meeting her eyes with a look of such passion and desire that she felt dizzy with the power of it. Cliché as she knew the scenario was, it was the best she had ever felt in her life. True, this was the way it happened in all the movies she loved to watch—romantic dancing heating things up—but happening in real life, it was a totally intimate and private experience, although it was in a very public setting.

When the music abruptly stopped, they reluctantly floated back down to earth, their gazes locked together.

Through a haze of smoke and lights and trembling and compelling gray eyes, Hermione vaguely heard the DJ announce that it was midnight, and that he was taking a ten-minute break.

"Midnight," she breathed dizzily.

"Yeah," Draco murmured.

"Harry and Ron."

"Mm-hmm."

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it, and finally realized that her friends were standing right next to them, looking slightly worried. They abruptly broke apart: Draco let go of her hips, Hermione untwined her arms from around his neck, and they broke each others' gaze to look at Harry and Ron.

"Wow," said Harry to Draco, "you didn't say you could dance. And you—" He looked at Hermione with something closely resembling awe "—you never did anything like that at school."

"That was a long time ago," she said breathlessly. "Er—thank you for dinner, it was nice being able to talk."

"Yes," Draco said, absently, "thank you very much. It was nice to talk to you outside of school."

Ron and Harry made some bland remarks that basically reiterated what Draco and Hermione had both just said, they said goodnight, agreed that it could be fun to do something like this again sometime, and parted. Draco and Hermione retrieved their jackets, still in somewhat of a daze, and stepped into the green flames of the Floo Network to make their way home.

- - -

There. 3, 288 words. Longest chapter yet. Worth the wait? I hope so.

My computer is mostly better, so provided inspiration strikes in time, the next chapter should be up in considerably less time than this one took. I apologize again.

Thank you so much everyone who reviewed. Over 100 reviews, yay! Big event for me! I love you all!

-fallenpetal


	15. Endings

_Hermione hurried down the long corridor. She was running late for class, for the first time in six and a half years. She stumbled over the long hem of her regulatory robes, muttered "Blast!", hiked the robes up and broke into a run. Her heavy book bag swung at her side, slamming into her leg on every alternate step. She flung herself at a door, trying to get to the staircase that led up to Flitwick's classroom and her Advanced Charms class—and hit the wood with a loud thud._

_Tears sprang to her eyes and she backed away, winded. Why wouldn't it open? She was really going to be late now. Rubbing her bruised elbow she sprinted to the next doorway along the hall—that one was locked, too. Frightened and panicky, she ran on and on. The hallway was unending. She was surrounded by locked doors and she couldn't get out._

_She sank to her knees in the middle of the cold stone floor and began sobbing in earnest. The corridor was going fuzzy and she didn't think it was just from tears. What was happening to her? Was there some kind of curse placed on Hogwarts?_

_Just as everything around her turned black, she suddenly felt a hand underneath her chin, gently tipping her head up. She looked up into a pair of icy gray eyes, and despite the frigidity she saw there, her fear left her as the hallway disappeared._

"Mya! Mya, wake up."

Hermione's eyes flew open as she gave a great shudder, and tears continued to pour from her eyes. She wasn't at Hogwarts—she hadn't been there for years. It took her a minute to place herself, as she looked frantically around the room.

"Draco," she choked, recognizing the face of the man who was cradling her in his arms. "Draco, I can't—"

"Shh," he soothed, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, "you were just dreaming. Everything's going to be all right."

He held her until her sobs quieted and she clung tighter to him.

"I'm sorry," Hermione managed, giving him a watery smile. The dream was already dissipating. "It was just a dream. I can't believe I got so worked up about it."

"It's fine," he shrugged, or attempted to shrug, as best as he could while lying down. "Dreams are funny things. Hey—" he craned his neck to see the clock "—what time do you have to be there?"

"Eleven thirty." Hermione stretched her arms above her head and yawned widely.

"Well, it's ten now, so—"

"Blast!" Hermione jumped out of bed as if she'd been catapulted. "I have to take a shower and—"

"Blast?" Draco repeated, looking amused. "I haven't heard you say that in years. Thought I'd corrupted you enough."

Hermione paused, deep in thought. "Huh. Funny." And she was off to the bathroom, her dream completely gone.

- - -

At precisely eleven twenty-nine, Hermione was making her self-assured way down the hallway of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. She wasn't at all nervous for this interview. She was basically assured a job. While it may not be as prestigious as Curatio Validus, she would make a lot of money and hopefully be much happier. She knocked calmly on the door.

"Come in."

The voice sounded gruff and unfriendly, and some of her confidence crumbled away. She pasted a happy smile on her face, and walked smoothly into the room.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully to the Healer behind the desk.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes, that's me." Hermione held out her hand, expecting him to take it, but he ignored her.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said gruffly, flipping through a stack of paperwork, "I don't know which of our inept office aides got you in here, but there aren't any openings at this moment. So you can just turn around and go home."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "I—what?" she stammered. "But I really need a job. I'm very highly qualified, you see, I studied at—"

"I don't give a damn where you studied," he growled. "The fact is we don't need you right now. If there's an opening feel free to contact us later."

Feeling as though she'd been slapped in the face and silently cursing the office aides, Hermione turned and left slowly. _I didn't really want to work here anyways_, she told herself, but it just wasn't true. She took a deep breath and Apparated.

"Draco?" she called as she appeared in their living room.

"Back so fast?" He emerged from the kitchen, stuffing something into his back pocket.

"They're not hiring," she said, willing her face not to crumple. She had done entirely too much crying in the past few hours, and was determined not to do any more. "Some stupid office aide scheduled the interview, and the man wasn't at all happy about it."

"Oh, Mya," he said awkwardly. "Don't worry, you'll get a job somewhere."

Hermione shrugged stubbornly. "I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

He was right, of course. He was always right. She did care, she was devastated, and all the doors of opportunity were slamming shut around her. She sank onto the sofa, holding her head in her hands, fighting the emotions that were threatening to tear her apart.

"I wanted to give you something," Draco said, sounding nervous. She looked up at him dully. "It was supposed to be a celebratory sort of thing," he explained, "so I hope you'll accept it, in the state you're in. And if not, I guess, just think about it for awhile before saying anything."

She had never seen him so unsure of himself. "What on earth—" she started to say, but he silenced her with a finger to her lips.

"Just let me do this," he said. To her great surprise, he dropped to his knees before her, digging in his back pocket. He produced a small black box.

Hermione's jaw fell open and tears sprang unrestrained to her eyes.

"Mya," he said quietly, taking her hand, "I love you. I've loved you for years—since university—and I don't think now that I could live without loving you. I want to know if you would do me the incredible honor of—" he flipped the box open to reveal a huge diamond "—becoming my wife?"

Hermione was smiling through her tears, and she extended a shaking hand for him to slip the ring onto her finger. "Of course," she said shakily, "yes, yes, yes. Oh, Draco. I don't know what to say."

"'I love you' would do fine," he suggested, standing and pulling her to her feet.

"I love you," she agreed, kissing him wildly.

- - -

It wasn't until years later, watching their first daughter, Madilyn, as she slept in her bassinette, that Hermione Malfoy remembered her dream. She smoothed her baby's white-blonde hair, smiling. She was now the president of a small new hospital, she was happily married, and her life was perfect. And it was all because Draco had pulled her from her nightmare.

- - -

Complete.

Finally.

Whew.

I am not planning a sequel to this, because I don't feel that it would add to their story in any way, shape, or form. If anyone has any questions about any of the characters or about anything that happened, either email me about it or leave your email address along with your question in your review, and I will try to answer your questions.

This story was loosely based on the song "So Beautiful" by Dashboard Confessional. Actually, technically this story was loosely based on an earlier one-shot I wrote that was based on the song. I'll probably post that sometime. I wrote it a long time ago, and it's not very good, but I think it's interesting to look at the differences between the two stories. So if anyone's interested in that, let me know.

I have been playing around with ideas for new stories; I actually started the first few chapters of one that's meant to be humorous, but I don't know if it's actually going to end up anywhere. But I also have another idea that I've been thinking about for close to a year, and I am going to write that one eventually. It may not be for a long time, and the updates may not be regular (be forewarned—I have a really busy schedule this year), but if you want to read it, it will get up here sometime.

Hope you liked it—I liked writing it, and I liked reading your reviews. See you all again for the next story!

-fallenpetal


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